You are getting sleepy…

1

Very, very sleepy…

Hypnosis has always been a casual interest of mine.  I mean, with as obsessed as I am with psychology, of course I’m at least somewhat interested in hypnosis.

… As a therapeutic tool, done by a licensed professional.

That stage stuff is bullshit, of course.  And I’ve seen FemDom hypnotists who claimed to be able to control the minds of their subs.

That stuff, I was never all that interested in.  I dabbled in it once or twice, but it never really stuck.

Until, of course, Sounder came along.

We’d tried hypnosis once before… God, I don’t even know how long ago.  I did a Google search, studied it for 10-ish minutes, and then we tried it out.

It didn’t work.  And honestly, I wasn’t surprised.  Anyone who has known Sounder for more than a day could guess that he’s not easy to put in a trance.  I just figured he was one of those people who are impossible to hypnotize, and we left it alone.

But I kinda don’t like not knowing how to do something, or not being able to do something.  For months, it bugged me.

And then it occurred to me: What if he’s not impossible to hypnotize, but it’s just blocked somehow?

When I was in my early twenties, hypnotherapy was recommended to me.  So I went to two different hypnotherapists, and neither of them could get me into a trance.  A friend of mine recommended the woman she saw to help her quit smoking, and spoke the world of her.

So I went to see her (we’ll call her Psylocke).  But the entire appointment, she didn’t even try to hypnotize me.  We just talked.  Same with the second appointment.

I was sitting there thinking, “What gives?”

But she knew what the hell she was doing.  When she finally did hypnotize me, I went under super quick, and ended up being one of the easiest people to hypnotize.

So two professionals said I was impossible to hypnotize, but I wasn’t.  The same could be true for Sounder.

Psylocke and I ended up being friends for a bit, after I stopped being her patient, until she moved away.  So I messaged her on Facebook, asking why I was so hard for the others but easy for her.

She explained that my self control is a very big part of my psyche, and I couldn’t let it go enough to go into trance.  So she needed to get to know me first, so she would know how to convince me to let go of that control.

Well, gee, that doesn’t sound like anyone else I know.

Cool, so I already know Sounder really well.  It was just a matter of using what I know, with what Psylocke knows, to figure out how to get him to let go of his self control.

Back to Google.  This time, slightly more than 10 minutes.

15-ish hours later (I’ve been known to be just a teensy bit obsessive when I’m super focused on something), I had a plan, and a script.  I knew exactly what traits in him to appeal to, how to convince his brain to let go, how to seduce his subconscious into handing over that control.

Because control is my drug, and one way or another, I’m getting my fix.

I was pretty confident.  What I had, what I’d written, should work.  It was something that would appeal to his curiosity, his competitiveness, his perfectionism, his desire to serve and obey me, and his need to be taken, conquered, thoroughly and wholly owned.  If there was any possibility at all for him to be hypnotized, this would do it.

So I was cautiously optimistic when I got to his house.  He lied down on the bed, got comfortable, and I got started.

Half an hour later, I counted him back up and was eager to see if it worked.

Of course I could’ve just asked him.  But there are much more effective ways to get that kind of information.  His mind is hard to read, but his body is a completely different matter, and I can say with absolute certainty that no one knows it better than I do.  That would tell me how well it had worked.

I knelt down beside him on the bed and rolled him onto his side, my hand between his legs, rubbing his p-spot.

It didn’t take him long to start grinding against my hand, moaning softly.

He already squirms like a girl, this isn’t anything new.  But immediately I noticed a difference.  He’s already an eager slut, but that was ramped up to an amazing level.  He squirmed and thrashed under me, he gasped and moaned, he whimpered and whined.

And I quickly discovered something even more amazing, something very, very, very useful to me.

His sluttiness and his hunger completely overtook his mind.  I found myself painting for him a picture of the future, the first time he feels a man’s hand between his legs instead of mine, the first time he is bent over and fucked, hard and fast, from both ends, by a group of men.

It was a very depraved, very dark picture.  I have a very vivid imagination, and made good use of it.

Any other time, hearing things only half as twisted would have made him cringe.  But not this time.  He agreed to it, he yearned for it, he craved it.

It actually became a bit of a game.  I knelt over him, bringing him to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, getting even more depraved, even more twisted, even more fucked up.  It became a game to see if I would hit on something that would cause that familiar cringe.

I never reached that point, though.  No matter how fucked up I got, no matter how deep I took him, he was right there with me, wanting it.  Every time I said something new, every time I told him a new detail, he’d gasp and moan eagerly, arching his back and desperately humping my hand.

Hell yeah, the hypnosis had an effect.  A totally amazing, awesome effect.

Even more of an effect than I realized, actually.  The next morning, he told me that he was still in that trance-like headspace through the entire session, until we went downstairs.  That, I hadn’t expected.  And I can definitely take advantage of it.

Awesome, so hypnosis works, and I now know how to put him in a sweet, slutty, submissive headspace.  Mindless and agreeable.  Empty and obedient.

It opens up a whole new world of opportunities.  It’s a whole new level of control over him.

The things I can do to him, the triggers I can put in his head…

It’s going to be an obscene amount of fun.

Let’s play a game

I love the things Sounder’s depraved sissy mind comes up with.

He had a dream last week, that he shared with me.  In it, I give him the ability to help decide what I will do to him next time I see him.  I do this by telling him to find me a hot sissy caption each morning.  Each picture is assigned a number of points, and if he meets certain thresholds, he’s able to avoid certain unpleasant things.

Which is a fucking awesome idea, m’kay.  Like seriously.

So of course, this week, I wanted to do it. We started on Monday, and I’m going to see him on Sunday.  He sends me one picture each morning, and each picture is given a score between 1 and 5.

To avoid figging, he must earn 5 points.

10 to avoid ass to mouth.

15 to avoid Kazander Topping him for the entire evening.

20 to avoid being spitroasted.

25 to avoid begging Kazander to fuck him.

And 30 to avoid begging Kazander to be allowed to suck his cock.

The first two pictures he sent me were good, with one earning 3 and the other earning 4.  On Wednesday, the one he sent was really hot, and earned him 5 points.

On Thursday, he went with a different tactic.  Instead of looking for a picture online, he took one of the photos he’d taken for me, and added his own caption to it.

It was beyond hot.  I absolutely loved it.  And I wasn’t expecting it at all.  I broke my own rule, but the reaction he got out of me deserved something extra.  I gave him 6 points.

And that put him up to 18.

That picture shows his face, so it won’t be posted here, but the one he sent this morning is perfectly fine.

And amazing.

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I took the photo last Sunday.  He edited it and wrote the caption, and gave it to me today.

Definitely worth 5 points.  Which puts him up to 23.  And he’s still got two more days, and only needs 7 more points.

Next time we play this game, I’ll have to make it harder.  But isn’t my sissy so creative?

Superiority

So I was having a conversation with a gentleman who subscribes to the ideology of female supremacy.  It’s a view I don’t share.

But we were discussing it, what he likes about it, and what I dislike about it.  And things were going well.

Until he said, “It just means so much more to serve my wife, because she’s superior to me in every way.  I don’t think it would mean as much if she wasn’t.  Like if you’re not physically bigger and stronger, and smarter than your subs, how can you really exert control over them?”

Um… what?

I mean, don’t get me wrong.  The guy is happily married to a woman he loves.  It works for the two of them, it’s what they want, and I’m sure as hell in no place to tell someone that their lifestyle choices aren’t valid.

But, um… what?

Okay, I mean, I have a very healthy love of myself.  I know what I’m good at, what my strengths are, and in what areas few people on the planet stand on equal footing with me.

I also know that there are things I’m not good at, things I struggle with, and weaknesses I have.  As much as I love myself (and I love myself a lot), the kind of arrogance and conceitedness required to not acknowledge that there are areas where my subs are better than I am is completely unthinkable for a normal, sane human being.

A perfect example of that was just the other day, talking to Sounder.  We got on the subject of how often tact, finesse, and diplomacy are required in his job.  And he joked that I, given my habit of being very blunt, probably wouldn’t excel in that position.

And he’s completely, 100% right.  I’d lose all patience about 4 minutes in and just start telling people off.  The level of diplomacy his job requires isn’t something that comes easily to me.  I just don’t care enough to be diplomatic.  If there’s a problem, I care more about solving it quickly and efficiently than sparing someone’s feelings.

He, on the other hand, has figured out that balance between quick-and-efficient and sparing-someone’s-feelings.

Hell yeah, I can acknowledge that there are things he’s better than me at.  Which is why, when I found myself in a situation where I had to play mediator between my mother and uncle, Sounder was the one I asked for help, because I knew he could see potential issues I couldn’t, and I wasn’t about to take any risks with tempers running that hot.

I joke that he’ll be my diplomat when I’m appointed Queen of the Universe.  And I can just see how that would go.  Like, I’d find out that some leader did something stupid, and I’d immediately want to chew the guy a new asshole or two, and I’d be like, “I want to talk to him, now.”

And Sounder would have to hold up a hand and say, “Okay, wait, I need to find out what actually happened first.”

“Cool, but I still want to talk to him, now.”

“It would be a really good idea to not yell at him right this minute.”

“I know.  I’m going to yell at him in like, 3 minutes.”

“Holding off on yelling at him for now will benefit you more in the long run.”

“Ugh, fine.  But I want to know the second I can yell at him.”

He’s got a patience with people that I just don’t.

There are things Kazander is better than me at.  He’s a fucking genius when it comes to numbers and money management.  He can take control of the finances of someone who files for bankruptcy and completely turn it around in such a short amount of time.  I’m serious, I’ve literally never met anyone as good with numbers as he is.  It’s wild.  So obviously, he’s the one who handles our money and our budget.

He’s tried to talk to me about the stock market, and investing, and what I should do with the life insurance money if he died.

My solution: Just don’t fucking die.  Problem solved.  See?  There’s that quick-and-efficient thing again.

Yeah, if I sat down and really researched the shit out of it, I could probably get on at least a comparable level to him, but I’ll never have the comfort with it that he does, or the speed he does, or just the natural ability he does.  I’d have to constantly have to work at it, while it comes easily to him.

The awesome thing is that it looks like the spawn inherited that ability from him.  I mean, it’s still too early to tell, but math is definitely her strongest subject.

I can even admit when one of my subs knows more than I do in the fields I pride myself in.

Not many people know more about the English language than I do.  But Steel does.  And on the very rare occasion where I’ve had a question or needed help with something, he’s the one I’ve gone to.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.  There’s nothing wrong with those who serve me being better at something than me or knowing more about something than me.  I’d get bored if they didn’t.

And as far as physical size and strength, I mean, I’m 5’9″, and I’m no delicate flower.  And yeah, there’s something kind of hot about playing with a guy shorter than me, or smaller than me, or not as physically strong as I am.  I’ve always enjoyed it.

Most men aren’t shorter than me or smaller than me, though.  Kazander’s taller than I am.  Sounder’s about my height, maybe a little bit taller, and he’s strong enough to break metal fucking chain, m’kay.  Literally without even trying.  He’s a hell of a lot stronger than not just me, but pretty much everyone.  If he wanted a Domme who could physically overpower him, basically his only option would be a professional bodybuilder.

And I don’t know, I just have this idea of what it means to lead people in general.  Like, if the only people you could get to follow you were weaker/smaller/less intelligent/more inexperienced than you, can you really call yourself an effective leader?

Or does it mean more when even the strongest, the smartest, the best and brightest, the most elite, choose to follow you?  Not because they are inferior or because they have no choice, but because they want to follow you?  Because something about you inspires and motivates them, and earns their respect?

I kind of feel like D/s relationships are the same way.  I mean, of course, again, people want what they want, and as long as they’re happy, who am I to judge?  But a blanket statement about D/s not meaning as much unless the sub is inferior to the Dominant in every way?  That just seems to be literally the opposite of what it should be.

I think D/s means more if the sub is equal to the Dominant, or superior in some aspects.

Because at that point, he’s not choosing to submit to her because he feels like he has to.  He’s not submitting because he sees himself as weak.  He knows he’s strong, he knows he’s intelligent, he knows he’s capable and competent and can handle anything life throws at him.

He’s choosing to submit to her because there’s something about her that draws him in.  Something about her, specifically, that has earned his respect.  His trust.  Not just because she is a woman.  Because she, as an individual, is worthy of his submission.  Because she, as a person, has inspired him to want to follow her.

I don’t ever want someone to submit to me because I’m a woman.  I don’t ever want someone to submit to me because they see themselves as inferior to me, and could never stand on equal footing with me.  I want someone to submit to me because I, as an individual person, have earned it.

Because the submission of a strong man is a very precious gift.  He doesn’t need to give it to anyone.  He can handle life on his own.

And he’s not going to give that gift to just anybody.  He’s not going to let just anyone control him.  He’s not going to follow anyone just because.

It has to be earned.  And it means so much more to me, because they’ve made the conscious decision to give me that gift.  Not because I’m a woman.  Not because I’m superior or inferior.

Because I’m me.

The gentleman’s guide to going down on a woman

So it’s occurred to me that some men simply don’t know how to do this properly.  And I get it.  It’s intimidating, there’s a lot going on down there, where your own setup is pretty basic.

This is often exacerbated by the fact that women don’t often tell men what they like.

But here’s why:  Because most of you are all so wrapped up in your precious little egos, that the slightest constructive criticism is interpreted as an attack on your very manhood.  It’s ridiculous.  Laughable.

I’m serious, we literally make fun of you for that.

But it’s annoying, too.  Because now we have to find some other way to tell you what we like, and how to pleasure us better.  Most of the time, we just train you to respond to different moans.

It’s stupid.  It really is.  But we’d rather do that, because you suddenly crying in the corner, or shouting about how ultra macho manly you are, and you’re God’s gift to women, just isn’t sexy, and we wanna cum, goddammit.

So learn to take suggestion.

And then follow the fucking suggestions.

Kazander, who is actually very talented in this department, has phases where he’s just awful at the following suggestion thing.  I’ll tell him to move higher or lower, and he won’t move.  I’ll reach down and literally move his head where I want him, and as soon as I let go, he’ll go back to his original spot.

I have literally held him in place by grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

And that’s not fun.  It’s distracting, it’s annoying, and it makes it take even longer for me to cum.

He’s far from the only guy to do this, too.  He just has phases now and then.  I’ve been with guys where it was a constant battle.

That’s not sexy, okay.  It’s frustrating.  And if I’m frustrated, chances are I won’t be all that interested in giving you anything you may want.

Follow directions.  If we tell you to move a certain direction, do it.  If we move you to a certain place, fucking stay there.

Also, and I’ve actually only had one guy who didn’t do this, all the rest of you are just terrible at it, but when you do something we like, don’t fucking change it up right as we’re about to cum.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s the most annoying thing ever.  I finally asked a guy why he did it, and he said it was kind of like a big finishing move.  He was trying to make the build up more intense.

Ugh.  No.

Unless we specifically tell you to go faster or harder, don’t do it.  Obviously, what you’re doing is working.  We’re getting close.  We’re about to cum.  More often than not, when you try to do your “big finish,” it either ruins our orgasm (yes, women can have ruined orgasms, too) or completely derails it and now you have to start over.

When what you’re doing is working, don’t change it.

Also, it’s a tongue, not a fucking shovel.  Too many times, guys get way too rough, way too fast.  My clit is attached, m’kay.  Don’t try to dig it up out of my body.

It’s a hell of a lot more sensitive than you think, a hell of a lot more sensitive than anything on your body.  So be gentle with it.  If she tells you she wants you to go harder or faster, then do it.  Otherwise, start out slow and gentle.

The mindset seems to be that the faster and harder you go, that faster she’ll cum.  Yeah, it doesn’t work that way, literally at all.

It only just doesn’t even feel good.  And it’s distracting.

Be patient, take your time, and she’ll cum a lot faster than if you try to rush it or get super aggressive with it.

And try to keep the noises to a minimum.  Unless she wants you to, don’t do any moaning, and for God’s sake, don’t make any slurping or lip-smacking noises.  If you sound like a cow, that’s not sexy.  It’s distracting.

You want her focused on how good everything feels, not all the other shit.

I’ve also seen a lot of guys who just don’t know how to use their tongue at all.  Like, it’s been so bad, I just made a couple of guys stop, because it was a waste of time.

The alphabet thing is stupid and cheesy, but it works for someone who is unsure or just learning how.  It’s a good starting point.  Just don’t use the very tip of your tongue.  Often, that’s just too much pressure, and goes back to the too-hard-too-fast-doesn’t-feel-good thing.

Once she cums, don’t just suddenly stop.  Women’s orgasms last longer than men’s, and if you stop right as she starts cumming, it just falls off and basically feels like a ruined orgasm.  Super disappointing.

Keep going through the orgasm.  Go with the previous rule.  Just keep doing exactly what you were doing to make her cum.  Wait until the orgasm is over to stop.

And then, when she’s had a few minutes to relax, ask her if there’s anything she wishes you had done differently.  She should be more willing to tell you now, after she came.  Because hell, she came already.  It doesn’t really matter if you throw a fit because she gave you constructive criticism.  She already got what she wanted.

But she’ll also be in a very mellow, relaxed, good mood, so she’ll likely be very gentle and tactful in how she says things.  Just take her suggestions to heart, and next time, you’ll have a better idea of what to do.

Like with all things, practice, practice, practice.

To reproduce or not to reproduce

Jen,

Long time reader, first time writer.  I really love your blog and how matter of fact you are with everything, it’s so refreshingly honest.

I’m 28, my husband is 26, and we’ve been married for about three years and both of our parents have been pressuring us to have kids.  Aside from the fact that we’re two gay men and that process is a bit more involved than with a straight couple, there are a number of things that make us hesitate to go through with it.  Most notably, and maybe most selfishly, we like our life.  We like having time to ourselves.  We like being able to do things on our own schedule.  Most of our friends have kids and it’s all “I need to check with my sitter” and “I need to get back and relieve the sitter” and “I have a soccer game that day.”

And that’s not to mention the kink aspect.  I’m mostly submissive to my husband and one of the things I love is the spontenaity.  I could literally be sitting on the bed folding laundry and he’ll walk in, grab me by my hair, and just start fucking my face, just without a word.  Or I could be putting dishes away and he’ll walk in, bend me over the counter, and just start fucking me.  It’s one of my favorite things about our sex life.

You’ve talked about having a kid and how it has impacted your kink life.  I’m really just looking for an honest, matter of fact answer because everywhere I look all I see is stuff about how kids are the most amazing thing ever and “Oh I wasn’t complete until I had kids” and “You haven’t lived until you’ve had kids” and honestly, it’s all just overwhelming.

I need someone who can be honest with me, who can tell me the good and bad, and can tell me if it’s worth it.  I need someone who can tell me what life as a kinky parent is like without all the ooh-ing and ahh-ing that everyone does.

Please, anything would help.  And thank you so much.

Will

Will, dear, I actually take quite a bit of pride in saying this: You’ve come to exactly the right place.

And before I get into all this, I do want to do the obligatory I-love-my-kid thing.  In my specific case, yes, I think it’s worth it.  It comes with some pretty major fucking caveats, and some massive fucking disadvantages, but at the end of the day, I’m glad my kid is here, and if I could go back 7 years and do it again, knowing all the disadvantages and bullshit that goes along with parenthood, I’d still do it exactly the same way.

But what’s right for me may not be right for you.  And the only one who can make that decision is you.

Yes, having a kid will have a massive impact on your life, including (and perhaps especially) your kink life.  That spontaneity will all but disappear.

I mean, it won’t disappear completely.  You’ll learn, and your husband will learn, to be more opportunistic.  The kid is taking a nap.  Cool, come ride my cock.  Quickies in the bedroom while the kid is watching Barney, a quick blowjob in the shower in the morning before waking the kid up, a hurried, frenzied fucking before work while you’re making the coffee, I mean, there are ways around it.

But nothing really prepares you for that kind of loss of freedom.  Even when I was pregnant, I could still go where I wanted, when I wanted, and do what I wanted.  I could get up and go to the grocery store.  I could go out to dinner.  I could go to munches and play parties and doctor appointments and whateverthefuck I wanted.  I mean, I had limitations placed on me because of the complications with my pregnancy, but you get the general gist of it.

I had no damn idea.  And that was the first big revelation I had about my new reality as a parent.

Once she was born, even things like running out to get a quick lunch at a drive thru became an event.  It took planning.  Forethought.  And going out to dinner?  Yeah, that wasn’t something we could decide to do on a whim.  At 5:30pm, I couldn’t turn to my husband and say, “I don’t feel like cooking.  Let’s go out instead.”  We had to make arrangements.  Plans.  All the shit your friends say about sitters?  I’ve said those exact words so many times, it’s comical.

And let me just tell you right now: babies fucking suck.  I mean, you’ll either be adopting or using a surrogate, so there are some things (like breast-feeding vs formula, and then breast-feeding in public) you won’t have to worry about, but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass.  Midnight feedings, lack of sleep, exhaustion, frustration, resentment of the baby and/or each other, I mean, it’s fucking brutal.

Neither of you will be feeling very horny those first few months.  Newborns are the worst kind of baby.  They suck the hardest.  Every spare moment you get, all you’ll want to do is sleep.  Luckily, that part only lasts a few months, and then things start getting easier.

I love my kid, okay, and I loved her when she was a baby.  But I can also be completely honest.  There’s not a whole hell of a lot about the first six months of her life that I can look back on as a positive memory.  I mean, her first smile was awesome, her first laugh was amazing, watching her personality develop was fantastic, and really helped me bond with her.

That’s one thing you might actually be spared from, I’m not entirely sure.  Unfortunately, I don’t know many gay men who have kids, so I don’t know.  But for me, and many mothers, there’s this assumption and expectation that you’re supposed to be completely, 100% in love with your kid from the moment it leaves your body.  I don’t know if you’ll experience that expectation, but I imagine you’ll get at least a portion of it.  If you go through a surrogate, you’ll likely be expected to love it just as much as a biological mother would, from the moment it’s born, and if you go through adoption, you’ll likely be expected to love it just as much as a biological parent would, from the moment you sign the papers.

Either way, I’m going to do you a favor right now, and tell you that it’s completely bullshit.  I mean, I know even less about adoption than I do about surrogacy, so I’m just going to write the rest of this assuming that you decide to go through a surrogate.  I’m also going to write it from the perspective of a biological mother, since that’s the only perspective I can speak on with any degree of authority.  Obviously there will be things that are different with adoption, and with you being fathers, but I imagine the gist is about the same.

But there’s this expectation that you’re supposed to be completely in love with the kid from the jump.  And for some people, I guess that’s what happens.

It sure as hell didn’t happen for me.

I mean, I wasn’t completely indifferent to her, it wasn’t like that.  I’d been waiting for her for 9 months.  I’d been feeling her growing and moving around (and kicking the shit out of me, consider yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with that).

The point is, some people fall in love with their kids right away, and some don’t.  I didn’t.  Hell, I didn’t know her.

And then of course there was the guilt, because I didn’t fall in love with her instantly, that I must be a terrible mother, and then all the baggage with my own mother made its way to the forefront of my hormone-crazed mind, and what was I thinking, and what have I done, and how badly am I going to fuck up this poor kid?

Now I know it’s all bullshit.  You may not feel anything for the kid right away, and that’s fine.  I personally was reassured when the IV they had in her leg (she had to stay in the NICU for a week) started causing her pain.  I saw it, I recognized the IV burn, and I told the nurses.  Who promptly ignored me.

And then the mama bear instincts kicked in, and I went on a rampage until her next scheduled dose of antibiotics, where they realized, “Hey, it’s an IV burn,” and moved the IV.

She still has a scar from it, by the way.  Almost 6 years later.

So that was reassuring for me, because even though I didn’t really love her the way people say a mother is supposed to love her newborn, she was still mine, and I would do whatever it took to protect her.

So that’s something I tell new mothers, and it’s something I’ll tell you, too.  You may not be completely smitten with your kid right away, and that’s fine.  You don’t have to be.  You don’t know anything about the kid.  It’s a complete stranger.  It’s fine.  Because if something happens, if the kid needs you to protect it, those instincts will kick in and you’ll do what it takes without a second thought.  It’ll just come naturally.  Whether you’re a mother or father, whether the kid is biologically yours or not.

Because even though you didn’t carry it, and even if you don’t share a biological connection, you know that’s your kid, and if it needs you, it’ll flip the same switch in your brain that it flipped in mine.

We carry so much guilt as parents, because we put having kids up on this pedestal, and it’s all just stupid.  I’m glad I had my kid, I think she’s worth all the bullshit that comes with reproducing, but I can admit that there are parts of parenthood that just suck.

But while I didn’t feel that connection to her immediately, and I resented her more often than not, I did enjoy watching her learn, watching her personality develop, and that’s where we really started bonding.  That was really special, and for me, that’s the one thing that made all the other hell worthwhile.

Once they leave the baby stage, it’s easier.  And now, she’s almost 6, and she can do things independently, she does chores, she can hold conversations and she’s actually really into politics, interestingly enough.  I mean, it’s all got to be watered down, she’s fucking five, so there’s a lot that goes over her head.  But she does not like Trump.  Which is an opinion she formed on her own, independent of my thoughts or Kazander’s thoughts of the man.  I mean, she knew he was the president, and she’d seen a couple of interviews and speeches from Obama (most notably his Thanksgiving speeches, with all the dad jokes), but that was about all she knew.

It started when we were in NC, in the hospital room with my mom, who was watching a press interview with Trump.  I didn’t think she was paying attention, I was too appalled and disgusted to notice that she was actually watching, until she said, “Mommy, he’s mean.”

I said, “Yes, baby, he sure is.”

“I don’t like him,” she declared.  “You’re not supposed to be mean to people.  Especially if you’re the president.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“I miss the old president.  He was nice.”

“I miss him too, baby.”

So she, quite proud of her new opinion of the president, started telling everyone she met.  Which was fucking adorable, okay.

The problem is that a small town in North Carolina is probably not the best place to voice that particular opinion.  Reactions ranged from awkward silence to dismissal to feigned cheerfulness.  And she picked up on that, and started to doubt herself, so a few days later, she said, “Well, I like him a little bit.”

“What?  Why?”

“Well, he’s the president.  You’re supposed to like the president a little bit.”

“No the fuck you’re not,” I corrected.  “You’re supposed to respect him a little bit.  There’s a big difference.  You don’t have to like him at all.”

“You don’t?”

“Not even a little bit.  I don’t like him, either.  And neither does Daddy.  You absolutely do not have to like him, and you don’t have to support him or stick up for him.  He’s a cruel man, and I will never like a cruel man, even if I have to respect him, or even if other people like him, or even if I feel like I’m supposed to like him.  If you want to like him, that’s your choice.  But there has to be something more to like about him than him just being the president.”

That made her feel better.

So I mean, it’s fun now.  She can have these kinds of conversations, she can develop opinions of her own.  She says she wants Michelle Obama to be the next president, and she was quite irritated when she found out that she won’t be allowed to vote in 2020.

Seeing the world through the eyes of a little kid is pretty fucking awesome, too.  You kind of realize how jaded and cynical you are, and it’s so refreshing to sort of let go of that for a little while, and look at the world completely differently.

But there is one thing I’m noticing here, in reading your email.  And I mean, forgive me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you don’t even really want to have kids.

So if that’s the case, I’ll do you a favor now, and tell you this:

You do not have to have kids.  At all.  Ever.  Like, literally ever.

I know exactly that attitude you’re talking about, and I despise it.  Every time someone said that bullshit to me, about how I’m “not complete” until I’m a mother, I wanted to hit them in the face with a chair.

Uh, no.  I was not an incomplete human being before my spawn was born, m’kay.  I am more than just a baby-making machine.  That is just as true for you and your husband, even though neither of you will actually be carrying the baby.  You are two whole, complete, autonomous people.  You do not have to reproduce in order to be human.  You are more than a series of chemicals and DNA that must be passed down to another generation.

That being said, I’m my father’s oldest child, and he came from a very old-fashioned Mexican family.  Legacy was and is a big deal.  He could trace his roots back a dozen generations.  He instilled in me the spirit of our family, and that as his eldest child, it’s my job to carry that on.  I mean, shit went a little sideways, so that fell off a bit, but the attitude is still there.

The point is, having been brought up like that, I mean, family was everything, legacy was everything.  So yeah, I felt obligated to carry that on in a way my little sister and my cousins never really understood.

Because I’m the oldest child of my grandparents’ oldest child.  In an old-school Mexican family.  Yeah dude, I was told basically from birth that it was my job to carry on the family line, and have lots of babies.  I have male cousins to carry on the name, but it was my job to carry the legacy.

So that was great.

But there’s this pressure to reproduce, this idea that reproducing is the end-all, be-all of existence, and that’s all just utter bullshit.

“Oh, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a child.”

“Your life isn’t complete until you’ve had a child.”

“I didn’t know what love was until I had my child.  You have no idea what real love feels like until you have a child.  Your life is just empty.”

Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up.

I mean, honestly, how much does your life has to suck to think that you were incomplete before you had a kid?

I kinda liked my life before the kid was born.

Sure I like who I am as a mom, I’m damn good at being a mom, it’s a role I take a great deal of pride in, but I also liked who I was before my kid was born.

And some of the bullshit was ridiculous.  I remember, early in my pregnancy, before I even started showing, I wore a T-shirt that had Cartman on it, from South Park.  My mom saw it and said, “You know you’re not going to be able to wear that once the baby is born.”

Um, what?

“Why the hell not?”

“Well, that show isn’t really appropriate for kids.  And you won’t be able to curse, either.  You have to change a lot when you have kids.”

Yeah, fuck everyfuckingthing about that.

I’m not going to stop being who I am just because I made a person, m’kay.  I don’t lose who I am, I don’t become reduced to nothing but my spawn’s mother.  I still curse, I still watch South Park, I still drink, I still party and have fun, I still am who I am.

And my kid understands that some words I say are “grown up words,” and she will be able to say them when she’s a grown up.

Which works.  She just doesn’t curse.  Even though I curse all the time around her, and even when I’m talking to her.  I talk to her the same way I talk to anyone else.  I don’t pretend to be something I’m not around her, and I’m not going to change who I am as a person because she exists.

I haven’t changed who I am, I just added “Mom” to it.

And I’m still not a kid person.  I still hate other people’s kids.  I love my kid to death, I think she’s fucking awesome, and I get compliments on her behavior all the time, because I believe in discipline, goddammit, and I’m not going to raise an obnoxious heathen who cannot sit quietly in a waiting room, or who annoys the hell out of people on an airplane, or who screams and throws tantrums in a grocery store, or who whines and throws shit in restaurants.

So I love my kid, but I am not and will never be a “kid person.”

You don’t have to change who you are when you have a kid, because there is nothing “missing” without them.  I mean, if you want kids, and you honestly do feel like something is missing without them, then cool.  But not everyone feels that way.  I didn’t feel that way.

There’s nothing wrong with not having kids, if you don’t want to have kids.  You sound like you’re happy with your life, like you enjoy the life you and your husband share.  If you don’t want to change it, then don’t.

You like having free time and disposable income?  Feel like giving it up for the next 18 years?

Right now, you can literally be driving in the car with your husband, and you may drive past a new restaurant that just opened up.  And you can turn to your husband and say, “Hey, that place looks nice.  We should check it out.  We can go literally any time we want to.”

Giving all that shit up is not something you should do on a whim, or because your families tell you that you should, or because you feel like that’s what people are supposed to do when they’ve been married for a while.

If your families are pressuring you to have kids, tell them to fuck off.  I got it when my kid was about 2, and everyfuckingbody and their damn dog suddenly were all like, “Well, it’s time for a sibling!  You’re going to give her a little brother or sister, right?  Isn’t it time to get started on that?”

“Uh, no.”

“What?  She needs a sibling!”

“She really doesn’t, actually.”

“Kids are always happier with siblings.”

“They are?  Well shit, I never got that memo.”

“They’ve done studies.  You need to give her a little sibling.  It’s better for her developmentally.  Besides, you’re not really a parent until you have more than one.”

“Oh wow, I’m not?  I never knew that.  Well fuck, and I’ve spent the last two years raising this thing for no reason, then.”

Holy fucking shit, dude.  And no, none of that is even remotely an exaggeration.  I literally did have people try to guilt me into reproducing again, and I literally had people tell me I’m not a real parent because I only have one.

Just ignore them, or tell them to fuck off.  They’ll shut up eventually.  After about a year of those kinds of conversations, I started getting less and less tactful.  They stopped after awhile.  I haven’t heard any of that bullshit for… shit, probably 2 years, now?  Something like that.

Don’t let people pressure you into having a kid if you don’t want one.  You don’t have to have kids.

I mean, I can’t tell you whether you should or shouldn’t.  That’s not a decision anyone can make except you and your husband.  And for me, yeah, it worked out, and I love it, and I think my kid is one of the coolest people on the planet, and she’s more than worth all the disadvantages and all the limits it places on my time and my kink life.

For me, yeah it’s worth it.

Is it worth it for you and your husband?  That’s not something I can answer.

When you live in Vegas…

… What do you do when you want to get away?

I mean, we already live in the tourism capital of the world.  I was born here.  I was raised here.  It’s nothing new to me.  Nothing special.

So Kazander and I were looking at places to do another stay-cation this year.  We considered the Luxor again, but honestly, that place has just gone so far downhill, neither of us wanted to go there again.

Which is sad.  I remember when it first opened, when I was a kid.  I loved that place.  I loved staying there whenever my parents did a stay-cation.  The first time Kazander and I stayed there, I was shocked at how bad it had gotten, but I was still nostalgic.

After the second time, though, even I had to admit that it wasn’t what we wanted.

Where, then, would we go?

He suggested the bustling metropolis of Laughlin (pronounced lof-lin, like in “loft”), NV, population, 8,000.

And I promptly laughed.

But then he said, “Well, they’ve got the river, and a couple of beaches, and jet skis and things.  It could be fun.”

Hmm, that’s actually a good point.

I’d driven through Laughlin a million times, but never actually stopped in the town.  I never gave it much thought.  It was just one more tiny little town in the middle of the desert.  A couple of casinos and a post office.

Big deal.

But the Colorado River is pretty cool, and I haven’t been to any part of the Colorado River since I was a kid.

So I looked it up.  And sure enough, there’s enough other stuff to do there to keep us entertained for a few days.

Who knew?

Hell yeah, actually.  I could definitely go for that.  It’s out in the middle of the desert, which I love, in a nice, climate-controlled room, which I love, literally right on the bank of the river, which I love.

Hell yeah.

So we made the reservations and drove out today.  We’re going back on Sunday.

And it just feels so damn good to get away.

Things are quickly reaching a boiling point with us living so close to his family.  I’ve been wanting to move out for years, but never really pressed the issue, because I don’t work, and that wasn’t fair to him.

Then, in the last year or so, I started pressing.  Because I need to get away from them.  I know myself well enough to know my patterns, and they’ve been pushing me and pushing me.  When I break, there will be no going back.

And his MIL and SIL (Mother-in-law and sister-in-law) have officially gotten me to my breaking point.

I have a friend, who used to be SIL’s friend, until he realized the kind of human being she is.  But she did introduce us, and we hit it off great.

I was hanging out with him the other day when he got close and said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

My curiosity was piqued.  “What is it?”

“SIL has been asking about you and Kazander.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, she’s been asking if you’re into any kinky or freaky shit.”

At first, I brushed him off.  “She’s done that before.  She’s just bored and nosey.”

But the friend was not so easily assuaged.  “She wants to find dirt on you to take the spawn from you.”

“WHAT???”

“She and MIL want you out of the picture.  They want to find a reason to declare you an unfit mother.”

“She said that?”

“Not in those words, but she might as well have.”

He’s not known for lying or exaggerating, or drama-mongering, so I completely believe him.

“But they’d never want to take her from Kazander,” i protested.

“They think he’ll side with them.”

I started to laugh, then stopped, thinking back to all the times MIL just insisted that Kazander would side with her on different things, or agree with her, or take her (poor) advice, etc.

Yeah, she absolutely would think Kazander would side with her.

Holy fucking hell.

So I got home and told Kazander what was going on.  He was shocked, but dismissive, and that angered me.

And I mean, I could see where he was coming from.  He would never side with them over me, so there’s nothing they would ever be able to do.  They could talk to lawyers if they want, but I have no record, I don’t do drugs, I volunteer with homeless veterans, I’m a total, upstanding citizen and all that jazz.  I mean, there’s not a lot they could use.  They’d have to do some serious digging to find anything remotely close, and he pointed out that they’re not intelligent or creative enough for that.

Okay, so cool, I’m in no immediate danger of losing my child.

That’s not the whole point, though.

Because we are living in an environment where people are conspiring behind my back to take my daughter from me.  Whether or not they can succeed is irrelevant.  I don’t want to be around that, and I don’t want my daughter around that.

That’s toxic.

So I told Kazander, “We need to move.”

He scoffed.  “We’re not going to move.  They can’t do anything.  There’s no point.”

“I don’t care if they can’t do anything.  It’s the fact that they want to do something!”

But he remained dismissive.  Even after I said, “Either we need to move out, or I do.”

So I started looking at options.

I wasn’t going to play tug-of-war with my child.  If they want her so bad that they’re willing to destroy her entire world, then fine.  They can have her.  Losing one parent would devastate her, but if Kazander’s family went through with this, she would either lose both parents (if his MIL and SIL won), or every member of her extended family (if he and I won).

That would hurt her so much more.  God, that would crush her.  I don’t think she could easily recover from that.  It’s been so central to her whole world, her whole existence, ever since she was born.

God… That would… That would just kill her.

I could never let that happen to her.

And I have faith in my daughter.  I have faith in the way I raised her.  I have faith that, even if she’s brought up around those pathetic, terrible, small people, she will know the truth as she gets older.

It was Sounder who suggested another tactic, one that would keep my family together.

So I talked to Kazander again.  I told him I wanted to move out.

He said, “What if I want to stay?”

I shrugged.  “Then you can stay.”

That angered him a bit.  “You’d break up with me over that?”

“Over your family having ridiculous amounts of control over us?  Over you choosing them and that control over me and your daughter?  Yes the fuck I would.”

So we agreed on a six-month trial run.  We’ll get an apartment for six months, and then reassess and decide if living away from them is worth the inconvenience of not having them there.

And of course we won’t be going far.  The family is still so important to the spawn, so we’d absolutely bring her over 2 or 3 times a week to spend time with them, or even spend the night once in awhile.  But she won’t be spending weeks with them anymore.  I told Kazander, in no uncertain terms, that’s coming to an end.

I want to be moved out by the time the spawn starts school.  So I’m looking at apartments and Kazander is talking to his dad about how he’s going to manage the finances without living there.  It can be done.

It will be done.  Because staying there, keeping the status quo, is not an option anymore.

I’m stressed.  All the time.

I’m on edge.  All the time.

I’m short-tempered and irritated.  All the time.

I can’t do this anymore.  And I hated having to give him the ultimatum, but I was literally at a point where it was either that, or I would have to walk away.  I’m not going to live in a place where people conspire to take my family from me.

It’s just not happening.

So due to the financial burden that moving out will be, we decided not to go to Cancun, as we’d planned in October.  We’d need that for moving costs and rent.

But Kazander said, “With us not going, you really just need to get away for a few days.  You need to get out of the house.”

Yeah, I really did.

Okay, so Kazander and I have very different ideas of a perfect vacation accommodation.  I want a nice room.  I want a suite.  I want… not crazy expensive, but definitely not Motel 6.  At least 3 stars.

Kazander hates paying more than he absolutely has to for a room.  He’d do Motel 6’s the entire way.

And I get where he’s coming from.  When we go on vacation, we have a budget.  He’d rather spend the money on activities and cool things to do than the room.  Where I would rather do cheap or free activities and be comfortable in the room.

So we’ve always compromised, and met in the middle.

Not this time.

We’re staying 4 nights, in a casino that has two separate kinds of suites.  The second-tier suite, and the first-tier suites.  He said we could get the top-tier suite.

You guys don’t understand.  He has never agreed to anything even remotely like that, much less offer it himself.  I was blown away.

And I appreciated the hell out of that.  So I looked on the casino’s website, juggled some things around, combined a couple of promo packages, and found something that was $300 cheaper (I’m really, really good at doing that.  I’m good at finding deals when I need to).

We’ll stay the first two nights, tonight and tomorrow, in the second tier suite.  Then, on Friday, we’ll check out of that room and into the top-tier suite, where we’ll spend Friday night and Saturday night.

After him going so far as to give me the best suite in the hotel, I’m more than happy to have the second best for two nights to save him some money.  It’s definitely worth the minor inconvenience of checking out and then checking back in.  And the packages I combined come with some nice benefits and coupons that save us even more money on food and activities.  So all in all, we’re looking at saving about $500.

Hell yeah, I’ll take the second tier suite for that.

So we drove out today, checked in, and walked up to our room.

And the room isn’t bad.  I mean, you have to understand, it’s Laughlin.  This is not Vegas.  This is not even close to Vegas.  The casino resort we’re staying in is, according to what I read, the nicest one in Laughlin.

…… That doesn’t really say much for Laughlin, m’kay.

Without the promo, after taxes and fees, the second tier suite would have cost $5 more than the pyramid suite at the Luxor for the same nights.  And it’s about that quality, just without the big tub that the Luxor suite had.  Or without the 12 years of dust hanging from the air conditioning vent that the Luxor suite had.

I mean, it balances out.

Still, kinda disappointing when you’re under the impression these are the “elite” rooms offered.

But it’s nice, it’s comfortable, we had a fantastic view of the sunset from our room, and the river is beautiful, and brings back so many memories.  We’re going on a river cruise, we’re going to one of the beaches, we’re thinking about renting jet skis, I mean, it’ll be a really awesome stay.

 

Sounder is coming out this weekend, too, to spend some time with us.  And honestly, both Sounder and Kazander are doubtful, but I promise, promise, promise that my reason for wanting him to come out to spend time with us is not to play, but to just hang out.

Kazander and Sounder are complete opposites in a lot of ways, but they’re almost eerily alike in other ways, especially regarding their senses of humor.  I think they’d get along really well.

And my dream is to have all of us live together one day.  Sounder and Kazander will have to spend way more time with each other than the occasional drink at a bar or the occasional cock in Sounder’s mouth to find out if that’s a possibility or not.

These are two very strong personalities, in two very strong men.  It could turn out wonderfully, or it could turn out badly.  I’ve had enough tense roommate situations to know that I don’t want to jump in to one again, without at least an idea of what we can expect and how we can all put in concentrated effort to make it work.

The only way to be able to make any sort of educated prediction about that is to have them spend more time together.

That’s why I want Sounder to come out.  Not to play.

Although, of course, while we’re in the room, I’ll expect him to wear girls’ clothes.  I mean, that’s just a given.  He should be wearing girls’ clothes 24/7 when he’s not in public, anyway.  Obviously he’ll wear it here, too.

And I mean, should the opportunity for play present itself, I won’t stop it.  As I told Sounder earlier today, I will never pass up the opportunity to put a cock inside him.

But even if we do play, that’ll just be a small, short part of the evening.  That’s not going to be the bulk of our interactions while he’s here.  For the most part, it’ll just be chill, seriously just innocent hanging out.

So yeah, y’all…. I am beyond looking forward to the next few days.

And for someone who lives in Vegas, who has done the “Vegas tourist” thing over and over and over again, this is a welcome change.  Hell, this might actually turn out to be my new favorite stay-cation place.  Who knew?

Kazander often has good ideas, but he hit it way out of the park with this one.  That was just sheer fucking brilliance.

Who would’ve guessed, Laughlin?

From the other side

This is a guest post written by a trans man who wishes to remain anonymous.  For purposes of discussion, he goes by Omega.

I’ll keep the history short.  We all have different stories, but at the heart of them, they’re all the same.  Our entire lives, we knew something wasn’t right.  We knew something was off.

But I’d learned to live with the Off.  I’d accepted it as part of me.  The bitterness I felt at having the wrong body was the thing I assumed all women felt.  Some hate their thighs, some hate their breasts, some hate their hips or their stomach or their calves or their shoulders.

I hated….

Well, I didn’t really hate it.  Not once I became an adult, anyway.

The woman I was outside was the Off, but she had her uses.  I’d learned how to work with her, how to use her to get what I needed.

And she’s a tough bitch.  She knew how to protect me when I needed it.  She covered me up, she built walls around me to keep out those who would hurt me.

She’s stronger than anyone else I’ve ever met.  And she’s tireless.  A warrior.

Because she’d lived in this world as a woman, and I never really understood what that meant until I set her aside and entered the world as a man.

The things she’s endured, the things she’s dealt with…

There’s honestly no way to comprehend it without living it.

I respect her.  I admire her.  I resent her for existing.  I resent the fact that I needed her for so long.  I resent the fact that I still do.

Because it wasn’t until I was able to pass as a man that I realized just how strong she was.  How strong she was forced to be.

I took advantage of her; I used her.

Because I never knew what it meant to be her.

The truth, the pure and objective truth, is that sexism is alive, and male privilege is depressingly real.

She noticed it before I did.

Because it was subtle at first.  There was so much else going on, I didn’t notice it.  I was too worried about things like going to the public restroom.  But she noticed it.

It devastated me again to realize it.

People speak to me differently than they did to her.  They look at me differently.  They react to me differently.  Cashiers, waiters, car mechanics, the postman, employers, employees, the entire world sees me differently than they saw her.

The amount of respect strangers unthinkingly show me is different than the respect they showed her.  The level of competence people assume I have is different than the level they assume she had.  The way they accommodate me is different than the way they accommodated her.

It’s not everyone, and it’s not every situation, but it’s consistent enough to be a pattern, and the pattern holds true.

I realized how hard she is.  How hard she needed to be.

I realized just how much of the anxiety and dislike of myself wasn’t due to anxiety or depression, but from the way people saw me, the way they treated me.

It’s so unfair, what she had to go through to protect me, the way the entire world shrugged her off as having less worth.  The car mechanics who scoffed at her, the computer and technical repairmen who ignored her, the plumbers and electricians who walked into her home and blatantly disrespected her, the way doctors shrugged her off, the demeaning comments from any man who disagreed with her, the way everyone subconsciously belittled her.

I never even realized it until it suddenly wasn’t there anymore.  I look back on my childhood, on my adolescence, on my young adulthood, and realize that I had been a victim of sexism all my life.

Even she didn’t know the full extent of it.  Not until she saw the difference in the way I’m treated now.

For a long time, I hated her.  I hated her because she wasn’t me, because to me, she represented every lie I had to tell, every secret I had to keep, every part of myself I couldn’t acknowledge.  She was everything about myself I hated.  She was everything about myself that was off.

Now, I realize that she’s the strongest part of me.  Because she had to be.  She had to learn to stand tall when people scoffed at her, when people shrugged her off and dismissed her, when they belittled her, when they told her she was worth less than I am.

She learned how to stand up against those who felt entitled to her body, she learned how to let go and not let their touch haunt her the way it haunted me.  She learned how to protect us from those who saw us as nothing but an object to fuck.  From those who grabbed her on the street, those who sneered at her, who leered at her, who tried to break her.  She learned how to protect us from those who wanted to pull her down and destroy her, from those who wanted to make her less than human.

She learned how to be hard, how to be defiant, how to prove them wrong.  She was everything that was off about me, but she was my protector in a world that hated me not just because I was trans, but because my voice was high and my body was feminine.

And she’s far from the only one.  So many women go through worse than I did.  So many women hurt worse than I did.  I was lucky.  And I’m lucky in that I don’t have to deal with it anymore.

I never truly appreciated the constant battles she had to fight until I didn’t have to fight them anymore.  I never appreciated the strength it took to be her until I saw how much easier it is to be me in our society.

I’ve only been reliably passing as male for a year or so.  I’m still learning who I am outside of her.  And she’s still there to jump to my defense when I need it, because she grew up in a harder world than I live in.

I will always admire the strength it takes to be her, to be every woman.  Even they don’t realize how hard it is to be them, and that makes me angry.

These women have fought these battles every day.

Not against everyone, but against enough.

At least once a day, they are somehow, someway told that they are worth less than men.  But they keep going.  They keep fighting.  They learn how to get past it.

They don’t realize their own strength.  Just as she didn’t realize her own strength.  She didn’t realize what it took to live through a normal life as a woman until she saw how much easier it is to live a normal life as a man.

She resents that.  And so do I.  All the insecurity, all the doubt, all the pain of feeling not good enough, she thought there was something wrong with her.

But no, she was perfect.  She wasn’t me, but she was perfect.  It was society that let her down.  Not any fault or shortcoming of her own.

No man will ever understand the strength it takes to be a woman in a world where women are worth less.  No man will understand the strength it takes to be a woman in a world where no one wants to acknowledge the battles they still fight.

Where people pretend it doesn’t exist.  Where they shrug off a woman, where they brush off her battles.

Women can vote and have bank accounts.  What else could they possibly want?  Why can’t they stop whining?

It repulses me.  It makes me want to turn from the world.

But she’s not heartless.  Because, while I wanted to hate every man for what she went through, while I wanted to sneer at the little trials they thought were just so hard, she was the one who stopped me.

She reminded me that pain is not exclusive to women.  She reminded me of the good men who do fight for women.

She reminded me of the women in my life that I admire.  Women like Domina Jen, who are unbelievably strong, who will never understand the true extent of their own strength, who don’t need anyone to hold them up, but who graciously love and respect the good men in their lives.

But even that a battle in and of itself.

Domina Jen made a mistake once.  She let me see the contents of her email inbox.  And that brought on a whole new wave of bitterness.

Because I will never again have to deal with what she deals with.  The things she considers normal, the threats and the insults that she and everyone around her dismiss, the nonchalance people who love her feel at the way she’s treated, even her own simple, graceful shrug, saying, “That’s just the way it is.”

It infuriated me.  Because it’s not fair.  And who is going to stand up for her?  Who is going to fight for her?  Who is going to let her lean on them the way I could lean on her?

Who could she lean on when the weight of holding me up got to be too much?

No one.

And the internet is only one small facet, one small glimpse of what it’s like to walk through life like this.

A constant and cruel punishment for the unforgivable crime of having a high voice and feminine body.

No man fully understands what paying for that crime feels like, and how deeply it hurts to be met with the dismissive, apathetic attitude so many men exhibit.

Because they don’t want to see it.  They are uncomfortable with being confronted by it.  They are uncomfortable realizing how much harder things like going to the bank or getting your oil changed or running a business are for women.

There’s no rest for these women.  I escaped it, and seeing it from the outside made me realize how bad it really is.  But for the rest, there’s no escape.

I wanted to be angry forever.  I wanted to lose myself in my anger.  And even Domina Jen couldn’t snap me out of it.

But she could.

She was the one who reminded me what it feels like to love a good man.  She was the one to remind me what it feels like to have a good man love me.

She kept me from getting cold.  She kept me from letting the bitterness consume me.

The same way she kept me from letting the bitterness consume me when she had to be my mask.

I know that one day, I won’t need her anymore.  I’ll be able to put her in a little box, close it, and lock it forever.  I’ll be able to leave her behind and move ahead as me.

But that box will always be close to my heart.  Because she saved me, every moment of every day, and she will continue to save me right up until the moment I don’t need her anymore.

It’s isolating, seeing the world from both sides, and it’s why I have gravitated to other trans people.  Because I’m not the only one who sees it.  All trans men see this.

Trans women see the reverse, and my heart hurts for them.  Because they have no way of understanding this world they’re coming in to until they walk into it.

Because transitioning is awful enough, it is anxiety-inducing and depressing enough, without having to come to terms with this new reality.  Having to understand that being true to who they are means that the world will forever see them as less than their mask.

It makes me cynical, but she won’t let me lose all hope.  She stubbornly hangs on, reminding me that giving up never made anything better.

One day, it will be better.  I have faith in good people.  I have faith that good people won’t give up.

I have faith because I know that she isn’t the only fighter around.