The Road to M

So a few days ago I wrote a post about my not-quite-girlfriend-anymore M. I don't mean "not quite" in the sense that we're no longer together; I mean "not quite" in the sense that "girlfriend" doesn't really fit anymore. See... M no longer stands for the ultra-girly name she - he - was born with. It stands for Emmett. Here it is.

The Growth & Progress of my Boifriend

Time and exposure to new thought processes has begun to change M in a variety of delightful ways. It’s funny, really. When I first met her she had lonnnng hair. She wasn’t the girliest girl, but she did like to get a little feminine occasionally. Usually the femininity would consist of makeup or jewelry, or a lower cut top. (Of course, now I realize that none of these things are exclusive to femininity or even femme-ininity, but bear with me.) However, when I met her, she was for all intents and purposes straight. Her queer side had not yet been awoken. That’s where I come in!

A couple months of steady flirting and not a little bit of alcohol later, queer M was born. It was a small revelation at first. She didn’t immediately go and hack all her hair off and start buying cuff links and ties. Just realizing she wasn’t straight was enough at the time. But she began to get more and more curious, particularly after we moved out of the state in which we both grew up, away from our families and away from that traditional dynamic that we’d both grown up in. Our families are both amazingly open-minded and welcoming, but still, her family in particular is very traditional in that none of its other members really deviate from socio-sexual and gender norms.

That was when my boifriend really started coming out. The hair was hacked off. All of the girlier jewelry was abandoned. All makeup was thrown by the wayside. More men’s clothing—particularly, dressy men’s clothing like nice slacks and button downs—was bought. Ties were bought. Just about all the clothes with any hint of femininity were tossed into a donation bag. She hasn’t shaved her legs in not even she knows how long. (Funnily enough, I haven’t noticed. I guess it just doesn’t stand out that much on her.) The boi was coming alive.

M has always hated her breasts. She’s always been an active tomboy type, so her large breasts were always in the way and certainly didn’t suit her lifestyle. Well, now they really don’t suit her lifestyle, nor do they suit the image she wants to portray to the world. It goes further than that now, though. She’s becoming more and more interested in fully transitioning. She reads about it on the Internet. We talk about it a lot. She’s looking up books to buy with her tax return money. She wants to meet other transgendered people to talk with. It’s been… well, utterly fascinating to witness. She keeps asking me about it, making sure I’m okay with it; I keep telling her that whatever she wants to do, I’m okay with. It doesn’t matter to me what she looks like. I love all genders. She—or maybe one day, he—will always be my M.

In fact, I almost prefer her this way. I love having an in-between, genderfucked partner. There’s never a dull moment. One day she’s my boyish, dykey girlfriend and the next day she’s dressed to the nines, shoes shined, fedora rakishly placed—indubitably my boifriend.

Whatever name I call her, or whatever pronoun—and that’s another thing; more and more often lately I find myself referring to her as him—whatever genitals or clothes or anything, she is still my M, my it-doesn’t-get-better-than-this-how-did-I-get-so-lucky life partner. We’re sharing our individual journeys with each other, and they’ve only been made that much better by doing so.
M has started his own blog here on Blogger: The Road to M. Check it out - it's pretty good stuff!