Ghost Boy

It’s been getting harder to post on a regular basis.  It’s not that things have stopped happening, or that transition is not in my thoughts and in my life, but the feelings and ideas are fleeting and unfocused.  Some of the experiences I’ve had lately are too personal to share here, so I’ve been trying to decide if and how I want to write about the last couple of months.  I will say for now that I’ve been having a lot of interesting dating experiences, but as for details…we’ll see

The impetus for writing tonight is that I’m again in Minnesota.  I came out because my parents asked me to, and I think it will make my transition easier for them if they can physically see me as often as possible as testosterone takes hold.  This visit has been short but charged, and as I come to the end of it I am emotionally drained.  The situation with my parents has remained a frustrating stalemate; this entire visit, I did not bring up transition and neither did they.  Obviously, however, I have begun to change.  My voice is deeper.  I’m shaving.  My physique has begun to take a slightly more male shape.  I eat differently.  And yet, we don’t talk about it.  They do not use my chosen name nor the correct pronoun.  I do not expect that they will stop calling me Anna anytime soon, but the silence, the denial, is unbearable.  I am their son but they see nothing but a troubled daughter.  And yet, I have no wish to stop speaking with them.  They do so many wonderful things for me, and love me in such quirky, unforgettable ways, that there is no way to turn my back, nor would I ever have any desire to.

Me and one of my best friends from high school went out for ice cream on Tuesday night.  We have been close for years, but we’ve always been different kinds of people.  As time has passed, our paths have diverged.  She is the picture of femininity, and although she is a successful, smart woman, she desires nothing more in life than a solid, professional career (to which she is well on her way) and a heterosexual family of her own.  Perhaps the most striking part about her is how very much she knows what she wants; I am not nearly so certain, and prefer to leap off cliffs and wander aimlessly in order to find my way.  Although she knows I am trans and we talk about certain aspects of it, I can tell she does not want to hear any more than is absolutely necessary for the conversation.  She is the only person outside my family who still uses my birth name.  Each time we hang out, I wonder how long our fragile bond can survive.  We are so very, very different, and that fact is becoming impossible to ignore.

Tonight was my last night in Minnesota, and I spent it with a transmale friend of mine seeing an incredible duo, Coyote Grace.  They’re partners, Joe and Ingrid, and Joe is trans.  The music is acoustic, with Joe on guitar and Ingrid on double bass, both doing vocals.  I’m not usually into this kind of music, but Coyote Grace moved me beyond words.  Joe’s voice said so much of what we all feel, and it was the first time I had ever heard it put to music or poetry.  The audience was filled with transpeople and their partners and friends.  Sitting there listening made me feel, for the first time, grateful to be trans.  How else could I see all that there is to see on this unbelievable path?  What better way to live than to experience being two distinct people who are connected on some deep and complex level?  I am trans.  I am fucking absolutely and undeniably trans.

A Long Overdue Update

It’s been two and a half months since I started taking testosterone.  Each dose reaffirms that this decision was indeed the right one for me.  My body feels balanced and aligned.  Since the last time I posted about T, I’ve continued to notice many of the same changes.  My running continues to improve daily.  Whereas I was previously a slow 2-3 mile running, maybe three times a week, I’m now a 4-6 mile running, five or six times a week.  Cycling has also improved; I can climb hills much more efficiently than before.  Part of the athletic improvement may be related to the weight loss I’ve experienced.  Since starting, I’ve dropped 10 pounds and 2 pants sizes.  Now I’m thinning out of my new 32-inch waisted pants.  Interestingly, I feel like I’m eating a lot, just differently.  My sweet tooth is still absent, so I’ve been eating sugar only occasionally the last few weeks.  I’ve been downing nuts, eggs, and beef like there’s no tomorrow, and I seem to always be hungry.  I can tell that muscle is developing all over; last week I suddenly had defined triceps, even though I haven’t been lifting of late.

Facial hair has started to come in, although it’s fair in color.  I’ve decided it’s enough to justify shaving about once a week.  So far I’ve only got sideburns and mustache hair, neither of which I intend to grow in until it looks decent.  Other hair has started to grow here and there, mostly on my stomach and thighs.

My voice has been cracky and adolescent of late.  Last week I was teaching a class, cleared my throat mid-sentence, and my voice dropped a couple notches.  I’m thinking about spreading the rumor to my students that I’m a fourteen-year-old prodigy.  My Superman lunchbox should be helpful in making that plausible.

I’ve noticed irritability and directness.  Little things sometimes set me off these days, especially when I’m hungry.  The fortunate thing about “hanger” is that it’s predictable and has a cure, so I’ve been doing my best to keep it in check.

Ehhh, sex.  The sex drive has been insane.  And, my attractions are very, very strong in the male direction lately.  To my delight and surprise, I’ve been passing as male to men in gay bars for the last couple of weeks.  I don’t know what it is: the voice, the change in physique, or just a change in confidence perhaps.  Whatever the reason, I’m finding it quite fun to be a young (and more to the point, young looking) gay man on the scene.  Men even buy me drinks in the bar!  Okay, some of them are just gross old trolls, but still.

Speaking of sex, soon I plan to post on the wacky adventures I’ve had relating to the so-called kink community, tranny chasers, and being a gay transman on the scene.  For now, a little testosterone update is all I have time to post, but I’ll be back soon.  Cheers.

“You’re Not a Man until…”

I grew up with an older brother.  Ironically, he was much more timid than I was.  As a kid I was aggressive, physical, and strong.  Most of the time, I was chasing Ben, not the other way around.  I was a girl who could look out for herself.  Although this quality made me an all-star freak at the time, I later met many women who shared my toughness, mostly in the realm of martial arts.  I respected those women and learned that I liked that I could stand up for myself.  We were women warriors, facing a world made for men with our heads held high and our muscles and brains twitching with readiness.  Being such a woman, nothing was more infuriating, more demeaning, than men treating us like we were made of glass.  Men who felt the need to talk down, over-protect, and constantly play the leader and the hero.  “Don’t you want some help with that heavy box?”  No thanks!  “Do you want me to talk to the car salesman?  He might listen to me.”  Nope, I can deal with a slick dick as well as you can.  “Let me know if you want me to go light on you when we spar.”  Fuck no!  Go ahead and hit me, because I can take it.

As a man, this quality is translating much less well than one might think.  The cameraderie of tough-girl sisterhood is now gone.  No more play is aloud; if I am to be accepted as a man, some say, I must resort to the same demeaning, patronizing behavior with which men treated me when I was a feminine, but still physically capable, woman.  Clearly there is an incident motivating this post.  There is a female friend in my life who I respect, who I think of as strong, smart, and independent.  We play and we tease.  We tease the way bear cubs tease — with fake threats and friendly jabs to the arm.  Well, being the impulsive and imprudent guy that I am, I took it too far with one light punch.  It was meant to be as joking as any other, and didn’t do a lick of damage.  She laughed it off, but her boyfriend, on the other hand, did not.  Infuriated, he proclaimed that “if Adrian wants to be treated like a man then he should stop acting like a little bitch.”  Ouch.  He was ready to beat the shit out of me.  I regret anything I did to hurt her.  I regret it if I was disrespectful.  But as a former woman, I would find it far more disrespectful for my boyfriend to take up my battles for me, than for a male friend to hit me in a teasing way.  That being said, now that I’ve seen and pushed the social boundaries of this particular realm of maleness, I will not be returning to the edge.  I’ll stay away from her, and err on the side of caution with any other women I encounter, no matter how tough I perceive them to be.

Separate from the issue of the degree to which I stepped out of line with my female friend is the absolute anger I felt at her boyfriend’s comment.  Who is he to tell me how to be male?  As one of my friends loves to say, I’m not transitioning into a man, I’m transitioning into myself.  The kind of man I will become will most likely be atypical to say the least.  I am short, I am effeminate, and I am queer.  I love to giggle and snap my fingers in a Z.  I dance in public and I show my feelings.  And my respect for women comes in the form of realizing that they are absolute equals to their male counterparts.  I don’t apologize for that and won’t change it.  As I leave womanhood behind, I feel no regret, but I do stand proudly by my history.  I will never be like a cisgendered man, and not just anatomically.  I was raised different, I see things differently than they do, and no matter how deep my voice gets or how many people get my pronoun right or whether I have an F or and M on my driver’s license, that won’t change.  It is not for any other man, regardless of body or upbringing, to tell me how to be my male self.

Six Weeks on T

Hey all.  Sorry, it’s been awhile since I last posted.  Things have been busy.  For the last three weeks I’ve been working at a day camp for academically gifted kids.  Despite the constant kid-corraling, wiping noses, and overly complicated bureacracy, I’ve had a lot of fun at this job.  I love the kids.  The staff are great as well.  And yet again, everyone around is cool with my trans status.  I wasn’t going to come out directly, but about a week into the program, a little girl in my class names Olga walked up to me and asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?”  With the site director standing three feet away, I said, “I’m a boy!”  Curiousity satisfied, she ran off to dodgeball or plastic bottle boat making or whatever.  The director looked intrigued but uncomfortable, so I explained that I was trans.  He asked a couple of questions and asked if he should make a formal announcement to the staff, which I told him was unnecessary.  But it was huge gossip, of course, and so word spread along with my correct pronoun.  People ranged from very polite to quite curious.  I can talk about it openly with the people there I consider my friends, and they’re fine with it.  My kids are confused, but roll with it.  They switch pronouns all the time but it doesn’t seem to phase them.  So, thanks, Olga, for outing me at work

In other news, I’ve been on T for about six weeks.  My voice has changed!  Not all the way but it’s definitely deeper than it was two weeks ago.  People have been commenting on it, which never ceases to be awesome.  My weight has held steady the last couple weeks, as has the dramatic shift in my eating patterns.  I don’t eat sweets anymore except for very occasionally.  Love meat and eggs and get cranky if I don’t get them.  Sometimes I get “meat-drunk” — I eat a large meaty meal and then feel amazing and wonderfully slothful afterwards.  My strength, especially my running ability, continues to increase, although I can’t see a physical difference in my body yet.  Last week I ran two miles in 15:10, faster than I’ve been since high school.  Oh, and just yesterday I noticed two very small dark hairs among the light-colored soft hairs on my upper lip.  Soon I’ll have to shave!  No other new hair but I do have more visible hand veins.  I’m also still horny, not noticably more but in a different way.  I’m more visual about it than I used to be.  My clit is getting big and sensitive, and being turned on feels more and more like a little miniature hard-on.

Life is great.  I’m on T and it makes me feel…right.  Aligned.  Congruent.  Summer is in full swing.  I’ve been surfing a lot, running a lot, and I even learned how to throw a frisbee at camp recently.  I’ll try to update here more frequently, and I also owe y’all a video/photo update.  That should be up soon.  Till then, cheers!

Reflections on My Visit to MN

I’m sitting in my cramped airplane seat, the lucky recipient of the middle position.  I open my complementary can of Diet Pepsi and here the unmistakable sound: FIZZZZZZ  WOOOSH!  It spilled everywhere.  I asked the stewardess for a few napkins, and, exasperated, she handed them to me along with a plastic cup.  “Here, put them in this cup when you’re done.  Oh, never mind, I’ll do it.”  She reached over my seatmate and cleaned up my tray with a big sigh.  I wondered why she was so frustrated with me; I just spilled my pop, after all.  Then another stewardess asked her if she had things under control and she said, “Yep, he’s okay now.”  Ah ha!  I passed, but I passed as a twelve-year-old boy.  That was my M.O. these past couple weeks.  Two days before, I was having lunch with my undergraduate mentor, who is in his mid-thirties.  On our way back to his office, we passed the husband of one of my former colleagues.  He recognized my mentor, but not me, and when his wife later told him who I was, he said, “Oh, I thought that was his son!”  The day before that, my brother, dad and I went to see Star Trek, and the clerk asked my dad, “Are any of them under 12?”  My brother, at 5′10″ with a five o’clock shadow, was clearly not the prepubescent boy they were referring to.

On the one hand, it was nice to pass frequently back home.  On the other, I am not a child, and having my age mis-read so astoundingly is almost as bad as people reading my gender incorrectly.  It’s not that I’ve never been read as a tween boy in SD, but combining this with an extended stay at my parents’ house and the introduction of a new hormone into my system was enough to give me a real and honest case of adolescent angst.  I was angry and frustrated for good portions of my visit.  I felt disconnected from myself and from my family.  I know that I need to be patient with them, especially my parents, but after two weeks of my dad expressing his concerns that I’ll never find a partner, that I’ll have trouble finding a job, that I’ve probably just “fallen into this” and I’ll eventually change my mind…it was hard to calmly answer his questions and reassure him that I could handle the consequences of my decision to transition.  Right before I left, he told me he thought I should start seeing a psychiatrist who specializes in gender issues — it’s a psychological condition that I want to treat medically, he said, and so an outside perspective would be invaluable to tell me if I really am trans.  My question is, what will this psychiatrist be able to tell me about MY gender that I can’t tell him or her?  Not to mention that I’m happily seeing a therapist who respects my gender identity and, though she doesn’t have much experience with transpeople, she has strong ties to the LGBT community.  I saw her Thursday, and she offered to help me find a specialist who I’ll find agreeable, if I want to comply with my dad’s wishes.  I’m too angry still to seriously consider it.

To all the parents out there, if there are any: trans is not something we come up with because we’re bored.  We have spent months, maybe years, agonizing over whether trans suits us as a label, and whether the benefits of transition outweigh the very significant costs.  The truth is, now that I’m off on this path, there is no going back — not because I fear the consequences of stopping T or because I feel stuck in my decision, but because the more male I become, the more I know that I am simply not female. I hope someday my parents can see that as clearly as I can.

Although the family stuff was a little tough, I had some really great visits with old friends and colleagues.  Most of them are very supportive of the trans thing.  They’re getting used to the name and pronoun.  They asked a lot of questions — sometimes so many that I felt a little bad that the conversation was dominated by the trans thing.  I’m happy to share it with them, but it will be nice when the trans thing isn’t a thing anymore.

In other news, I’ve been on T for one month yesterday.  Here’s a little update:

Voice: Still no “real” drop.  I’m waiting.  It’s been cracking and I can feel the tightness and soreness in my throat.

Skin: More oily than usual, but no acne so far.

Mood: I’m less moody than I was the first week.  I think my driving is slightly more aggressive, and I get very touchy when I’m hungry.  Overall it’s been pretty steady though.

Hunger: The insane hunger has subsided, but I still crave different things.  I don’t really like sugary stuff that much, except for occasionally, and I really like meat.  I’ve been trying to cut down on the red meat a little and go for chicken and turkey, just to develop better habits.  I’ve found that I eat more purposefully now; instead of eating because I’m bored or just because it’s lunchtime, I eat only if I’m hungry.

Weight/musculature: I’ve lost about five pounds since starting.  I’ve seen a little bit of upper body development, but it’s very slight.  My biceps are more visible.  I’ve also taken four minutes off my 5K time.  It takes more to tire me out physically these days and I have a lot of energy.

Hair: I have a bit of fuzz on my upper lip and sideburn areas but it’s soft and light.  I can’t tell if it’s new but I think it is.  Not enough to necessitate shaving

Libido: It’s nothing like it was the first week, but still flares up…sometimes at very inopportune moments.  I’ve been into women lately, too, which makes me feel like sort of a pig.  The other day I couldn’t get over boobs.  It lasted for about 45 minutes, during which I was at my new job orientation.  I had to actively tell myself, okay, don’t look at the boobs.  Don’t do it.  Listen to the person talking, and look at her face.  God I felt like a jerk.

Trans Sex

This post contains graphic material not suitable for readers who don’t want to know this stuff about me.  Be warned.

Yesterday I was down at my alma mater visiting a few of my favorite professors.  One of them was bold enough to ask me:  “So if you’re not getting surgery on your lower half, won’t that cause…sexual problems?”  Wow, I’m a very open person, but I’m surprised a professional colleague (and friend, too, to be fair) actually asked me this.  I’m impressed.  It was then that I realized that straight cisfolk, and even queer cisfolk, for the most part have no idea how trannies do it.  In the interest of cis-edification, I’m providing some down-and-dirty details from my own life.  Again, be warned, this is a blunt, graphic description of a transman’s sex life.

First of all, I’m queer.  I like men and women and people in between.  I like cis and trans.  It’s not that I’ll sleep with whoever, whatever, whenever, it’s that I consider many other factors to be more important than gender and genitalia, like personality, sense of humor, chemistry, shared history, etc.  Given that I’m open to sexual/romantic encounters with a large spectrum of people, the logistics of sex differ from person to person quite a bit.  Let’s break it down a little…

The straight(ish) man. I say straight-ish because I truly believe that any dude that’s been interested in me in the last year or so can’t possibly be completely straight.  Heh.  Even after I’ve come out I’ve been with guys who see me as a girl.  Sort of hard not to, right?  My body is female, and people believe what they see.  This sex is a whole lot like straight sex — just plain old penis-vagina plus the things that straight-cisers tend to think of as “not-sex”: oral, hand, the typical stuff.

The gay man. To date I’ve only been with one gay guy.  He wanted a masculine woman to “top” him, i.e., take him with a strap-on.  So I guess this guy saw me as a girl, too, just a butch girl who had the male role in the sex.  I know that gay FTM tops are somewhat rare, because other gay dudes generally aren’t that open to the idea, but there are a few out there. As for bottoming with gay guys, FTMs do that a lot.  I haven’t.  Some FTMs are fine with using their god-given anatomy for this sort of sex, but others go with the traditional up-the-ass gay sex.

The queer woman. The cool thing about bi and lesbian women is that they appreciate the intricacies of sex without a penis.  Oh, the places you’ll go…down, around, in, out, above, below.  This sex is a whole lot like lesbian sex: cunnilingus, hand-fucking, leg-humping.  It’s not always clear to me whether queer women see me as a transman or a butch dyke.  There are some cues: who is the top and who is the bottom, and how clear that division is.  The noise each partner makes.  Maybe it’s the fact that the sex with transmen and butch lesbians is so similar that some lesbians are fine with dating transguys.  In the end, I don’t care too much about such divisions; I mean, if the sex is good, who cares?

The straight woman. Hmm, well, I’ve been with “straight” women before.  The main difference is that straight women often want a dick to be present.  That’s totally legitimate.  I worry sometimes that this need for a body part will be more important to a hypothetical lover than I am.  If that happens, well, I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.  There’s always the strap-on solution; most women say you can tell the difference, which I totally believe.  Some transguys say their clits get big enough for regular penis-vagina sex, but I’m skeptical.

At any rate, I don’t really consider it a huge problem not to have a dick, at least not with the right partner.  My manhood is not defined by a single piece of my anatomy.  Transmen are just as capable as bio guys of giving women enjoyable sex.  Perhaps we’re even better at some stuff, being the owners of such equipment ourselves.  Really, would you rather have cunnilingus from a former lesbian or a straight bio dude awkwardly rooting around with his penis?  If I were still a woman I know what I’d choose.

Other trannies. I’ve been with a couple other transguys, but never one that’s had bottom surgery.  The logistics with two transmen is a lot like with two lesbians, at least mechanically.  I’ve never been with an MTF, so I can’t speak to that particular experience.  I bet it’d be interesting though.

Wow, sex ed with trannies is a bit more complicated than putting a condom on a banana.  Or maybe it’s not…as a transmale friend of mine told me once, “Everyone’s pretty much the same…just rub and suck.”  Truer words were never spoken, friend, but sometimes you need to open your mind a little before you can get there   .

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=4065+Front+St,+San+Diego,+CA+92103&sll=37.509726,-95.712891&sspn=30.711554,79.101563&ie=UTF8&ll=32.752687,-117.164683&spn=0.007994,0.019312&z=16&iwloc=A&layer=c&cbll=32.751084,-117.165012&panoid=GYhap9ds0WmdCae_edSNEQ&cbp=12,69.43,,0,5

Oh, the Questions…

Right now I’m in Minnesota.  I flew in on Wednesday and will stay until a week from Thursday.  This visit has felt strangely like an ongoing interview pertaining to my transgendered nature.  It’s understandable; the people I know in MN I see only a few times a year, and, just as I am curious about their lives, they are curious about mine.  And as I’m sure any trannies out there know, there are “good questions” and “bad questions”.  The good questions stem from curiousity, a genuine desire to understand.  The bad questions quietly say, “You’re making the wrong decision,” or, “This is so weird,” or, “How will I explain this to my friends and family?”  I truly enjoy answering the good questions; they’re a whole lot better than the uncomfortable silence when folks are unsure if they should cross that boundary or not.  But choosing between a big purple trans elephant in the room and the bad questions is a tough call.  Here are my RATQ (recently asked tranny questions):

Can I ask you about it? Yes.  Always.  Of course (especially when you preface it with this obviously caring and polite statement).

What kind of underwear do you wear? Heh.  Boxers.

Do you feel different being on testosterone? Yep.  I’m hungry for red meat and eggs.  (And I’m horny…but sometimes I don’t include that in the answer .  I also feel happy…that’s not so different.  I’m a pretty happy person.  But I feel excited for the changes that are coming, too.

Why do you feel like you have to do this if you’re already happy? What a good question.  No, I’m not suicidal.  I’m not depressed about my birth sex.  In fact I’m content, I’m happy, I’m lucky, I love my life.  That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be better if my gender matched my appearance.  That doesn’t mean that I feel right in this body, being perceived as female.  This question may be impossible to answer; you’re asking me why I’m transitioning.  I’m transitioning because I’m a guy.  Wouldn’t you want to transition if you were me?

Do your parents know?  How’d they take the news? Yes.  They asked the previous question (and many others).  They’re dealing with it better than most parents, but that doesn’t mean they’re thrilled about it, or even accepting it yet.

What should I call you now?  It’s so hard not to think of you as Anna. Yeah, I know.  I’ve known the folks in MN for so long.  It’s okay if you make a mistake — I won’t be offended.  I wish we saw each other more often so you’d have a chance to get to know Adrian a little better.  It’s hard being “Anna” and “she” when I’ve been “Adrian” and “he” at home for so many months.  It’s probably shocking to you, my MN friends, that my friends in SD almost never slip, even with pronouns.  I know you’re trying; hey, it’s a transition for both of us.

What bathroom do you use now? Depends on where I am.  If I’m in a place where I can tell I’m being read as male, I use the men’s restroom.  Otherwise I usually stick with the women’s for now.  It’s safer and less smelly.

In this one Facebook picture it looked like you didn’t have any boobs.  Do you still have them? Yes, I do.  The effect you saw comes from what’s called a binder, which looks and feels like a really tight tank top, and is made for FTMs like me.

Are you going to have surgery? There are two categories of FTM surgery: top and bottom.  The former refers to breast removal, the latter to genital.  I definitely want the former as soon as possible (probably next May), and definitely do not want the latter.

Are the T and surgery expensive? My insurance covers a good portion of it, so it’s a lot less expensive than it otherwise would be.

What do you do when you’re swimming? I wear board shorts and a women’s swimming top, shaped like a tank top.  When I surf or swim in the ocean I wear a wetsuit.  When I swim in the pool I wear a regular women’s swimsuit.

What do you do when you work out? I wear a sports bra and I don’t bind.

Who are you going to date?  Doesn’t this limit your options? Yeah, I suppose it does, but it limits them to the group of people I would want to be with anyway.  We all have a limited set to choose from, based on who we’re attracted to, who is attracted to us, our interests, our physical locations, and yes, our genders and sexes.  I date men, and I date women.  I date trans and cis people.  I date people who are open-minded.  Sometimes I experience the common fear of ending up alone, but underneath it all, I have faith that what will happen will happen, and the person who’s right for me is probably floating around out there.

Will you get taller? Heh, I wish.  Nope.

Will you grow facial hair? God and genetics willing, yes.

When will your voice drop? Incrementally, starting very soon.

Will you go bald? God and genetics willing, no.  My brother hasn’t, so most likely I won’t either.

Is testosterone healthy? It’s just as healthy for me as it is for any other guy.

Should you be mixing T with alcohol? Heh, this was from a male friend I was drinking with.  If you can do it, so can I (and no, it’s not harmful).

Do you feel like the same person you were before? I feel more like myself now than I ever have before.  When I was very feminine, I felt like I was an actor playing a part.  I was responding to cues in order to fit in.  Then, one day, I decided to look the way I wanted to look and dress how I wanted to dress — screw what everyone else thinks.  That’s what I did and have done ever since, and the journey has taken me down this particular path.  I am growing into myself, growing up into the man that I am.  He’s not different than Anna, really, he was just muffled for awhile.

One Week on T

One announcement before I talk about T: I got my qual results and I PASSED!  I’m ecstatic.

It’s been just over a week since I started taking testosterone.  The information at the very end is not “family friendly”, just to warn you, but I believe it’s important to include for the benefit of other transguys out there.  If you’re a person who knows me in real life, I’d ask that you use your discretion when reading this entry.  If you think we wouldn’t talk openly about this stuff in person, please abstain from reading the last two paragraphs.

The first thing I noticed was an increase in my leg strength, and I’ve continued to notice that in almost all the physical activities I do.  The T seems to give me an edge near the end of a workout or a lift; I can push myself a little harder and find that last little bit of strength.  Again, this could be psychosematic, but I can also do things like run a flight of stairs two at a time without feeling any burn in my legs.  That’s new.  I can’t see any change in my musculature yet, however.

My appetite has been insane this week.  I have a newfound sympathy for teenage boys; the other night I ate a fairly substantial dinner at 8pm, and I was starving again by 10.  There’s also been a shift in the things I want to eat.  Sugary foods sometimes seem disgusting, which is so odd since I have a professional strength sweet tooth.  I don’t crave sugar anymore.  I do, however, crave protein.  I do eat meat, but before T it was something I rarely looked forward to with more anticipation than other foods.  Now, I make meal choices based on what has the most meat or eggs in it.  I have to say, my friends have been so great with this part of it.  Every hour or so when I’m hanging out with people, I find myself saying, “I’m hungry!”  First my buds will ask, “Is it real hunger or fake hunger?” because I’ve told them that some of this increase in appetite is not because I need more calories, but just because I have a new hormone in my body.  It’s impossible to tell if it’s real or fake, but I try to avoid eating things that are too heavy in calories unless it’s meal time or I’m absolutely starving.  My friends have been extremely patient dealing with me when I’m “hangry” (so hungry I’m angry or irritable) although I’ve been trying hard to keep it in check and eating something before it gets to that point.

My voice has become a touch deeper and huskier in the last week.  A couple people have even commented on it.  It goes in and out, but definitely during my regular radio sing-a-longs in my car, I can hit notes that are lower than I could have hit before.  I can feel it in my throat, too.  It’s a little sore and sometimes feels like the chords are a little too big for the space they’re in.  I’m hoping I still sound like myself when I go to Minnesota, as a lot of people there still don’t know I’m on T (I’m telling my folks in person, for instance).

Hair has started to grow on my stomach (hehehe, a “happy trail”).  It’s dark but not yet thick.  My leg hair has started to become a bit longer and thicker as well.  The skin on my face is only slightly more oily than it was before, and I don’t yet have any acne.

Okay, here’s the less family-friendly information:

My libido went through the roof about three days into taking T.  Oh, poor teenage boys…my bio guy friends tell me that this goes on for months or years when you’re in regular boy-puberty.  Mine should level out faster, but wow.  I was sitting in a class I was really interested in the other day, and I still found myself completely unable to concentrate.  I considered leaving halfway through because it was just too much.  I’ve asked the bio guys I’m close to here what the hell I should do about this, and again, I wonder how I got such amazing friends.  They usually first say, “Yup, welcome to being a guy.”  They’ve suggested exercise, which definitely helps, and, of course, getting laid.  I’ve used exercise as a stress reliever before, but never for this specific kind of stress.  The other day I came home so strung out, so wired, that I felt like I’d explode.  A four-mile run at a remarkably fast pace followed by a couple sets of stairs and some sit-ups really did the trick.

As for getting laid, I did that too.  I want to talk about this because tranny dating is something I’ve been really worried about this week.  I’ve been scared that I’ll never find that true love, and disconcerted by the fact that I don’t even know what to look for in a partner.  It’s a complete mystery who I’ll end up with, what gender, what sex, and finding a person who is both a good match for me and who is okay with me being trans seemed almost impossible for most of this week.  I needed to be with someone to reassure me that, yes, things will be fine in the end.  Two nights ago I was with such a person–a bi bio guy friend of mine who is very much in touch with his feminine side.  It’s unclear if this will be a one-time thing or not,  but it was nice to know I’ll still have options as a transman.  Also, man, it felt really good to answer that hormonal call

A Big Day

Wow, I can’t believe how much has happened in the last week.  It’s really more that a lot of things have culminated this week; it’s more accurate to say that I can’t believe all that has happened in the last year.  First of all, I finished my first round of qualifying exams.  I’ve been terrified of these things since I started applying to graduate school.  They seemed so daunting, so indicative of a level of mathematical skill which I honestly never thought I’d achieve.  In the mathematical world they are something of a combination of a coming of age rite and a severe hazing ritual.  I find out on Tuesday if I passed or not, and since I’m trying to avoid even thinking about it till then, I won’t write any more about it either.

Yesterday wasn’t just the day of my applied algebra exam, though.  It was also the day I took my first dose of testosterone.  Minutes after the exam ended, I was a wreck, as the test was much harder than we all expected, but I had my T in my bag ready to go.  I was so upset, so angry, so frustrated, but for weeks my plan had been to walk out of my exam, into the bathroom, roll up my sleeves, and rub on my first T.  Should I still do this? I asked myself as I walked back to my office.  Should I wait a day or two and cool off? No.  I’d been waiting for so long, nearly started so many times, been so excitedly distracted by the fact that this day–my “thirteenth birthday”, as I’ve been saying to my friends–was the day I started a physical journey to becoming a man, that it couldn’t be put off any longer.  So I picked up my jar of T, went to the bathroom, rolled up my sleeves, and gave my body exactly what it had been craving for so many weeks.

I don’t feel too different yet.  I feel good.  There appears to be no skin irritation where I applied the gel.  I just went running and my legs felt stronger than usual, but that could be psychosematic.  I’ve tried to time it so I’ll visit my family in Minnesota before there are any obvious physical changes.  My thoughts about it have been racing–I’ll leave for awhile and some of my friends will as well, and by the time we see each other again I will be different.  I’ll see my mom and dad in a couple weeks, leave, and by the time I see them again I’ll be different.  The next time I teach a class will be in August, and by then I’ll be different.  Will I really be different?  I will sound different, look different, feel different.  But will I be me still?  I hope that in a year I can still recognize myself.  I hope that I really am finding myself, and not running away from myself.

I’ve put up the first of what I plan to make monthly video/voice clip updates under Audio and Video Updates.  I’ll also put up the typical monthly T pictures soon, too, so that y’all can see if I actually become as buff as I hope to

The Kind of Friend Every Tranny Boy Should Have

Last night I was watching the Office and hanging out with a friend.  As we were chatting during the commercials, the subject of formal wear came up.  A half-joke has been floating around the department (and particularly my office, as it was my roommate/officemate’s idea) to have a Math Prom at the end of the year.  At first it was just fun to imagine how awkward all us mathematicians would be in the context of a formal occasion, to which we were encouraged (perhaps even required!) to find and bring a date.  Somehow, as quals got closer, the idea of a huge math shindig started seeming better and better, until it was an unofficial plan for a week from Sunday.  I, however, am in an interesting situation with formal wear: I need to learn a whole new set of rules and regulations for tidying myself up.  I told my friend, “I can’t even tie a tie.”  Being the kind, unassuming guy that he is, he said, “I can teach you!  Right after this episode is over.”  No awkwardness, no changing the subject off transition, just pure understanding and desire to help out from this cis, straight dude whose first introduction to “family” is yours truly.

And so, after the season finale of the Office, upstairs we went to his suits and ties.  Standing in front of his mirrored closet doors, I saw what so many ID-checkers at movies, bars, and airports have seen in me for the last year: a 12-year-old boy.  Jim is a clear 8 inches taller than me, with thick, dark facial hair and a deep voice.  In stark contrast, I’m a 5′2″, baby-faced kid in oversized cargo shorts that come halfway down my calves.  Though we’re actually the same age, he played something of the older brother, tying his tie slowly around his T-shirt collar and walking me through the motions as he went.  It was harder than I thought it’d be, so the second time he reached around from behind and tied mine himself.  “You have to do it gently.  Don’t tighten it right away.”  I got the hang of it after a couple tries, and looked quite dapper by the end if I do say so myself.  Next was the bowtie, an even tougher challenge.  “After you learn to do a bowtie, you’ll look down on anyone who wears a clip-on,” he joked.  He threw in a few tips about suits and slacks–how they should fit and be worn.  Turns out a man never buttons the bottom button of a suit, nor any buttons on a tuxedo.  The things I don’t know!  And when being fitted for a jacket, the sleeves should come just a touch off your wrists when you stretch your hands straight out.  I asked if he’d come with me to the tailor, not for some time, but eventually (once my body has settled into its male shape a bit), and he agreed.  I tried a couple of his coats, looking even more like a pre-adolescent in the jackets made for a fairly tall, broad-shouldered guy.  Despite how young I looked, I could see at that moment the man I was about to become.

I left that night with so much anticipation for the future, and even more appreciation for the present.  I’m not close with a whole lot of tranguys, preferring to socialize mostly within the graduate community (the intersection of math PhD students at my school and trannies has size exactly one).  I get the feeling that a lot of baby trannies learn this kind of stuff from older FtMs, or just muddle through on their own.  Something about having a bio guy friend willing to step up and show me how to do the little stuff is affirming, and endearing.  I went home and practiced my half and full Windsors, getting ready for Math Prom and feeling very much ready for my upcoming adolescence.