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uhhhhh both

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we seriously need to salute every single trans woman who chooses to shave her junk. not because of any preference (I like hairy dykes) but because shaving your balls is like trying to put a coat of paint on a deflated bouncy castle using a steak knife instead of a brush. god bless you all.

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A Small Rumination

Today is my day off, and while I sat here drinking my coffee I closed my eyes and just let my mind wander for a bit.

There is something altogether sinfully delicious about this silk nightie I'm wearing. Its form fitted so it hugs me in just all the right places, it cups my breasts like a gentle lover - not too tightly, not too loose - enough for there to be a bounce but keep them in place, and in this heat the cool texture gliding across my smooth, hairless skin is like a cool wind breathing softly against me. Its off-pink in color with a detailed cherry blossom pattern and a patterned black lace trim. It evokes femininity and sensuality. It makes me feel soft, sexual, alive. It validates me in a way that nothing else does, like being able to scratch that one particular itch that you can never really pinpoint.

The first time I wore this for my wife, I used a a shade of lipstick almost the same color as the cherry petals along with silk stockings and a pair of 3in patent leather heels. I put large waves in my hair and did a very smokey gradient for eye shadow. The look on her face, the lust in her eyes, was forever burned in my memory. The way she delicately touched me so as not to harm the material brought me to a place of pure nirvana. For however long it was my mind had left and I was in a place outside of time and space as my body surfed the waves of pleasurable sensations.

I've tried to find similar clothing that have the same affect, but nothing ever compares. I've resigned myself to knowing that eventually an ill fate will come to this garment and it will not be salvageable, but until time, I will cherish it and adore the feelings it causes to rise within me.

My apologies if this was too risque or poorly suited for the tags.

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#just millenial problems

Born too late to be the proprietress of a victorian apothecary and coffeehouse, but born too early to be a cyberpunk catgirl.

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A Journey Can't Begin Until You Take The First Step, And Then There's No Telling What Will Happen.

[Content Warning: A single mention of drugs, alcohol, suicide. Lots of discussion about depression and mental illness.] This is my 3rd attempt at transitioning and I swear to whatever high atop the thing if this attempt fails I'm gonna absolutely lose my shit. I didn't know it at the time but the route I took from there to here would be wrought with chaos and pain.

My first attempt was an abject failure. Back then we had to follow the Harry Benjamin Standards and go through a Real Life Test in order to start hormone therapy. Unless you were really lucky or had sympathetic doctors you had to deal with the Gatekeepers who wanted receipts, and living in the deep south at the time made this all even worse. This would lead to my final attempt at shedding my mortal coil and boxing her up in the deepest corner of my mental closet.

This is where I danced a downward spiral and gave absolutely no fucks. Drugs and alcohol. A long path of broken hearts from relationships I kept sabotaging. Excessive eating. A day that ended in -y meant the plan was the same - lets make some bad decisions and self-destruct. I was damaging myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and I didn't care. I wasn't looking to the future because I didn't plan on having one, I didn't look to the past either because it only led to blaming myself even more. I looked at the here and now simultaneously damaging myself and doing damage control. It was exhausting!

I had a fight with myself that sort of stopped this. I was in the midst of a manic episode and just riding its wake, coming up on day 3 of no sleep and was working on getting pretty well sloshed. I was alone and just pacing around my house in the dark saying some very awful things to myself and then it happened - I saw my reflection in the mirror and absolutely loathed it! I wanted to recoil from it but instead I got angry. Really angry. Hulk angry. What commenced was a rage-fueled screaming match with myself of hurricane proportions. I can't tell you exactly what was said nor how long it lasted for, but I seems I managed to sleep as when I came to again I was in bed. The brain fog was heavy and deep which was normal, but I would eventually notice a note I wrote myself on my hand that said "I forgive you". I remembered, sort of. The memories were (and still are) hazy, but I remembered just enough to be numb. This was an absolute vast improvement that can't be understated. Its like being negative 5million and suddenly being at 0.

Reconstruction takes time. Current damage has to be assessed and additional damage mitigated. I'd gained a ton of weight, had either burned down or set fire to numerous social bridges, and had a few new health issues that needed to be repaired. A few years later I eventually considered the repair project complete and I was very much a blank slate. I didn't know who I was or what I wanted - it was a pure existential crisis. It made perfect sense at the time and hindsight (and my therapist) says it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, but I said fuck it and built a new me. I frankensteined a new person and would proceed to alter and replace pieces as needed. Write this down kids, this is called an unhealthy coping mechanism.

This invariably leads to the second attempt at transitioning. New me found themself in a new state with new friends, a new path in life, and a new opportunity. Planned Parenthood was now offering transitioning services! No gatekeeping. They said "you know you better than we ever could, as long as you know the risks and are prepared for the changes we can help". This was a warp speed steamroller event. I dug deep into that closet and pulled that box out, letting her out and unabashedly parading her around. Got my hormones, got new clothes, got my own place, and had all the amazing safe and consensual sex I could (sane was not welcome, because this girl had time to make up for!). It was intoxicating! Living, working, shopping, dating as the true me. In this whirlwind I lost friends and family but didn't realize it. I created a hollow existence that had no actual meaning or substance. Sure, my body was starting to look the way I always wanted it to, I was living the life she always wanted to, and there was no one there to stop me.

So that's the thing - there was no one there. It was chistmas day and I was sitting alone in my apartment eating ramen and cold pizza. No text messages or calls, no visitors or invites. The only gift I received that day was from myself, an epiphany. I had once again blown up my life. You see, when you take something out of storage and intend to use it you need to make sure it's still fit for function. She wasn't. She was a battered and bruised beast from a much earlier part of my life that I just kept feeding and had lost control. I had such terrible tunnel vision that I mistook the light of an oncoming freight train for the light at the end of the tunnel.

I detransitioned. I guess you could say I also detoxed. But this time I did not do it alone, I had a good therapist and a good friend that moved in with me. We examined the deepest parts of me, of her, of I. It was tough. The toughest and hardest thing I ever had to do, but it HAD to be done. This civilization I had built was done on the rubble and ruined remains of the last one, which makes for a very poor foundation. It was doomed to fail. My friend sort of acted like a sponsor. She was there to help guide me and make sure I didn't relapse. She helped me sell or give away what I had to, and by the end I had a clean and empty plot of land. Maybe something would grow there, or maybe something would be built there. But no matter what happened, I had to stay vigilant. I had to protect this land because this land was me. I was the sole resident, caretaker, gardener, builder, guardian.

My wife is my world. She knows my entire history, the battles and wars I've fought, the mental and emotional challenges I face every day, and she takes it all with open arms and never complains. When we talked about having kids we didn't know what would happen - between my own biological issues and the changes from the hormones it was a huge question as to whether I even could father a child. We talked about doing all the medical tests my doctor wanted to do as a kid, but when we really thought about it, what would the results change? Would knowing I was intersex, or had some kind of biological irregularity change anything for us? I already had a somewhat clean bill of health from my last checkup. So we said fuck it. It took quite a long time (and not for lack of effort or trying) but we eventually had our first daughter. We also inadvertently sparked something in me.

My therapist didn't know it, my wife didn't know it, and I didn't know it but the birth of my daughter was the trigger for a cascading series of events. As much as I had tried, using all the tools available, I could not keep denying my transgenderedness. Transness? It had always been there, in a quiet and overlooked part of my land, dormant but with just enough life to keep existing. Having a child and becoming a parent was the trigger needed to spark it back to life. Slowly, silently, it grew and stretched out its roots all the while causing emotional and mental issues. My depressive episodes were coming more frequent, but we didn't notice it was depression. My dysphoria was coming back with a vengeance but we thought it was from other sources. My egg was cracking open.

All it took was a simple, innocent, statement and everything changed. My daughter had tripped and fell, started crying, and as I picked her up I said "Come to mommy, baby". My wife noticed what I said, I noticed what I said, and the egg fully cracked open. It would be a series of conversations, large and small, over a few years. It would be 2 steps back and one step forward and jumping in place. We eventually would have the final conversation and determine that yes, I needed to transition. This part of me cannot be denied, ignored, or buried. When I asked what it would mean for our marriage, I said losing you wasn't worth it. She said I married the person, not the gender. We would have our second and last child before starting down this path.

So here we are in my third transition attempt. She has been an integral part from day one. We've explored what I want from this, what can be obtained and what can't, what needs to adjust in our marriage and how we can do it successfully. She gives me my weekly E shots and comes with me to every appointment. This change has also given her the ability to not only explore her own bisexuality, but also gender. We consider our friendship, relationship, and marriage even stronger than before. Our own little family unit is building quite the home on my land. My girls flip/flop between calling me mommy or daddy, but we don't mind since they always call me she or her or even ma'am. My eldest daughter always tells me how pretty I look or how she likes my dress or jewelry. Thanks to an obsession the youngest one had with the movie Coraline, father's day has been celebrated as Other Mother's Day.

Life isn't perfect though, nor should I expect it to be. This journey has also she light on how just how my own mental illnesses have been impacting me and the decisions I've made (if my biography is ever written a copy of the DSM V will need to be packaged with it for reference). Despite my vigilance things do sneak past and I've only just started climbing out of the deepest depression hole I've ever been in and this episode started 4months ago, but my wife has been loving, understanding, and supportive which helped immensely in pulling myself out.

I've socially transitioned at home, at work, and in the world at large. I'm medically transitioning and will soon legally transition. While I mourn that she never got to experience this in it's purest form, I do take solace in knowing she would have approved.

I've received my share of flak from people before, saying that I shouldn't transition because of my mental illness or that my history gives other trans people a bad name. Some bolder individuals have even said that because I detransitioned that means I was never trans to begin with. It hurts for a bit, but the haters are gonna hate and sometimes bitches just be trippin. From the time I started that Real Life Test to now it has taken me 21 years, a herculean task if there ever was one, and I have earned every. little. inch. This victory was earned with blood, sweat, and tears. Want to devalue that? Want to invalidate that? Want to take that away? Well, you'll need to pry it from my cold, dead, fabulously-manicured hands.

If you've read this far and you're struggling with your own transition, know that I understand and I support you. You aren't the first, you aren't alone, and you are heard. I love you!

A man is walking down the road and falls into a hole. He tries and tries but he can't climb out. A doctor passes by and he yells out "Hey doc, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?" and the doctor looks down, writes a script, and sends it down saying "This should help!" and walks away. The next passerby is a priest and he yells out "Hey padre, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?" and the priest says "Yes! I'll pray for you!" and walks away. The next person is his friend, Joe. "Hey Joe, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?", Joe looks down, see's his friend, and jumps in the hole with him. "Joe, what the hell are you doing? Now we're both stuck down here!" he says. Joe replies "Yeah, but I've been here before and I know the way out".

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💜

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Wait, we were supposed to stop doing those things? Nobody ever tells me this stuff!

Kids have it so right. Be weird without shame and cry about anything that so much as dares to inconvenience you

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I Must Speak But Don't Have The Words

[TW: Suicide] When: 1988 Where: Playground, Kindergarten Situation: Little Me strongly and firmly believes that if I antagonize the girls and make them chase me then when I get caught they'll turn me into a girl like them as punishment. Apparently boys will be boys.

When: 1989-1994 Where: My bed, every night / Home Situation #1: I prayed to god every night to let me wake up as a girl. Situation #2: Caught wearing my sister's panties a few times, said it was because I couldn't find my own underwear. Situation #3: Constantly asked to help with yard work, would prefer to help in the house. Told that's women's work, what are you a girl, stop being lazy.

When: 1993-1995 Where: Home / Hospital Situation: General moodiness and angst, aches and pains. Breasts and hips are forming. Why parents? You're fat (I wasn't). Get confused for a girl out in public, parents force me to cut my hair and go on a strict diet. Doctor says I only have one testicle but also wants to run chromosome and hormone tests. Parents balk at cost. Surgery to find a missing testicle. I prayed to god, for the last time, to have the doctors turn me into a girl. They find a testicle slightly smaller than a marble, it's atrophied.

When: 1996 - 2000 Where: High School / Home Situation #1: Fell in with the punk and goth crowd. Had friends. Learned about the world at large thanks to them (and this new thing called the internet!). Discovered I was Bisexual. Learned the term 'transsexual'. Boom, head blown. Female bestie opens her arms, heart, and closet doors to me. Wearing black lipstick, black nail polish, eyeliner. Parents hate me. Wanted my ears pierced, dad said it was for girls and fags. In an argument about something dumb my mom calls me a cocksucker - I quipped that at least I was getting dick, flipped my hair, and walked away...we didn't speak to each other for a month. Situation #2: Attempted suicide twice. Both attempts failed right before they would have succeeded thanks to some spectacular reverse-final destination shit. Parents blamed my friends, my books, and anything else they could. Boyfriend jokes it's because god is scared of me after ignoring my prayers for so long and needs time to come up with an alibi.

When: 2001 - 2005 Where: Therapist's Office Situation #1: Asperger Syndrome (to be changed much later to Autism), Depression, Transsexualism. Do this thing called a Real Life test. Standards too rigid, too high, failed test. Situation #2: Final suicide attempt. Lots of counseling, meds, and restrictions.

When: 2010 - Present Where: New State of Being/Mind/Residence Situation: Grabbed life by the gooch and made it my bitch. Found new therapist, learned about myself more, began fixing myself, started a proper transition.

I never knew the words needed to express my mental anguish and emotional turmoil. They were concepts in my mind colored with prismatic abstract thoughts. My world was a tiny box with the only things allowed in governed by my parents. I wanted so badly to say to someone, anyone, that I was in pain and needed help but didn't know how. Even today I still have trouble putting words to thoughts - as an example, this post alone has already taken an hour to write.

For any of you out there struggling to talk about your changes, your transitions, your mental state of you, take this advice - there are words out there for you! Take your time to craft them as purposely and gently as possible. Some people will kick up at them and try to break them, but they are your words and you made them. They can't be broken, they can't be sullied or tainted. Those words were crafted by hand with love (for yourself) and perseverance (for a better tomorrow) by the best craftsmen in the world: You.

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REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR RADFEMS

REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR TERFS

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🎵Would you like to swing on a star Carrying moonbeams home in a jar?🎵 [AI Prompt: A transfemme carrying a jar filled with moon beams, sitting on swing that is attached to a star....it seems attaching the swing to the star was too complicated for AI lol]

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reblog to give the person you reblogged this from a kiss on the forehead and a hug to let them know they did a good job today

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Of Fathers and Dads

My father has always been a man who believed if it didn't fit into his rigid little box it was unacceptable. What this ultimately meant for me was only receiving attention, praise, and love If I showed an interest in something or developed a trait that he approved of - that fit into his box. There was no encouragement to grow wide and tall or to broaden my horizons...this was rough and isolating as it meant there were numerous things we could never talk about as it would only end up being a lecture of discouragement.

At some point I started looking elsewhere. It began with LeVar Burton from Reading Rainbow because he understood the magic that can come from books and I felt encouraged to read everything I could. Patrick Stuart's Captain Picard gave words to the morals and values I was developing and helped guide me when I needed it ("It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life.”). Other fictional males, and to an extent the father's of friends, would serve as surrogates over the years to fill that hole but it was never permanent.

I remember the day I truly came out as trans to my parents; no more hints, innuendo, allusions - just laid my cards out. The outcome was about as negative as you can expect, but that night I happened to catch that episode of Fresh Prince...why doesn't he want me? My heart broke in new ways that night I didn't think possible and the way I looked at him was forever changed. He wasn't a dad, he was a father.

I say all that to say this - the internet has been a wonderful thing (all things considered). It has allowed for the flow of information and communication to increase exponentially. I didn't have access until around '95 or so but even then it was super basic and it took time to find certain corners that had the info you wanted or needed. But today I can hop on and within moments I can find a person like @your-queer-dad who showers you with positivity and advice without asking for anything in return. No terms or conditions. Just come as you are and that is good enough.

I make sure my kids know I love them, I make sure I support them in the best ways possible. My friends are also subject to this - Momma Pixel makes sure you've eaten, you are staying hydrated, and that my door is always open just come as you are.

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This is what happens when we don’t teach people which books it was that the Nazis burned.

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The first of many brain dumps

When I was young I always knew I should have been born a girl, but this isn't about my origin story, it's about a decision I made as an early teen - I wanted to be a Stay At Home Mom and Housewife when I grew up. I had the skills and drive to do almost anything I wanted, but this is what I wanted more than anything and it completed me in a way nothing else could.

It took a long time and while I'm not quite all the way there I do have a wife that not only supports everything about this and encourages it, but I have kids that support it as well. Just a few more milestones and I'll have my Perfect Life.

Of course, it won't be perfectly perfect. My family has all but disowned me and my wife's family is estranged from her. No big get togethers with the clan, no sharing mom stories with my own...is it the price to be paid for getting what I want? Is it the Universe trying to balance out? Was it just bad luck to be born into a conservative family? Who knows!

But nothing can take from me the memory of baking brownies with my kids, lookin hella cute, and being told "we make the best brownies, mom!".

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from @/vero_muerte on tiktok, PLEASE look up the original video!!!

found this video at <2000 likes and i NEED more people to see this because. yeah.