The "Tomboy" Part of Tomboy Femme

So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about just how genderqueer I am. I’ve claimed the title for some time now but don’t know how much of the actual embodiment I’ve been doing. I’ve been a tried-and-true tomboy for so long now (read: all my life) that I’ve been doing a lot of embracing of the femme side of me, as if trying to balance out all that time spent as a tomboy without the “femme” part attached.

Unsurprisingly, M’s progress in transitioning from female to his rightful male self has brought a lot of this masculine business to the front of my mind. I’ve been wanting to play more with the side of me that isn’t infatuated with high heels and makeup and the lush curves of my body. I even toyed with the idea of what male name I would adopt if I ever adopted a fully male persona. (Not that me adopting a fully male persona would ever happen; it’s just one of those “what if” kind of random thoughts.) I’ve been wearing less makeup, having been overwhelmed with a fairly “meh” attitude at the prospect of putting on more than the essentials that make me NOT look like a dead person in the morning.

I suppose the time has come when the NRE between myself and my femme-ininity has faded from a bright radiance to more of a soft glow. The wild, unhindered exploration of my girlier side has been more or less fulfilled and now the other side of me that has sadly been somewhat neglected is starting to wave its arms wildly and shriek, “Hey, what about ME?!”

Thus, I feel, is the life of a person who is attempting to combine within him/her/zirself and achieve balance between the two most basic gender identities orbiting in the gender galaxy.

So, I imagine a new phase of my self-exploration has begun. Not so much a phase of exploring my tomboy-ness, for it is as I said before: I’ve been a tomboy for most of my life, so that aspect of myself has been thoroughly explored. Now the phase has arrived in which I explore how best to meld these two aspects into something that wholly encompasses me, something that conforms and fits like a well-tailored jacket.

It’s bound to be an interesting ride!

The Further Progression of M

So, things are always interesting in the world of transsexualism. There have definitely been new developments since last time I updated about M. For example, did I mention he chose his new name? Emmett. Apparently it means “strong.” That certainly fits.

He got this interesting little gadget that fits onto the top of a doorframe, for working out. You can do pull-ups on it, or put it on the floor and use it for dips, pushups, or fit it into the doorway to use as leverage for situps. He’s been using it a lot, trying to lose that girly softness and build manly muscle. *grin* Can’t say as I’m objecting.

The wardrobe, which has always been tomboyish, is slowly getting more and more masculine. He bought polos the other day. I’ve never been a huge fan of polos before, but wow. He rocks the polos. Especially with a fauxhawk and black Chucks. Funny how easily he combines styles, like wearing a rather preppy polo and punking it up that way.

In less trivial matters (although I guess, really, nothing concerning transsexualism, be it clothes or exercise or anything, is trivial), M came out to his little sister last night. They were just talking about transsexualism and the similarities and differences between transsexualism and other alternative lifestyles – is that really a fitting term? – and his sister came right out and asked. She took it really well, said she was proud of M and would keep it quiet until M is ready to tell the rest of the family. I think M was happy to see that his sister took it so well; it gives him hope that the coming out will go more or less smoothly with the rest of the family.

M has been talking more and more about getting a breast reduction in preparation for total top surgery. He has been reading that in order to get clearance for the more involved surgeries, the doctors involved in the psychiatric aspect like to see that the person can pass as a man for a certain period of time. M, well… has breasts. Very visible breasts that prevent him from truly passing as a man. We’ve been talking about him going to the doctor to discuss breast-related back pain as an opening into breast reduction surgery, but I know he’s worried about finances. Sucks when you can’t be who you need to be because of money.

But, all in all, besides that obstacle, things are going well.

Oh, and may I just say that he looks HOT in boxer briefs?

Open

So... polyamory. I guess you could say that my more or less monogamous lifestyle has taken a gigantic leap into the polyamorous in the last couple of weeks. Huge changes in so little amount of time. I'm amazed my brain has even begun to process it at all. It's been intense, enjoyable, amazing, and absolutely unforgettable.

(By the way, Q, I know you follow me... just a word of warning, things might get a little stronger than PG in the following paragraphs! Trauma alert! :D)

Let me give a little backstory. I have a friend (the aforementioned Q) who is about my mother's age. I call her my Fairy KinkMother because she's kind of like a second mother to me. Well, she has a son J who is my and M's age. Luckily while we joke about practically being family it isn't serious enough to make this thing with J seem wrong. ;)

Anyway. M and I have been pursuing J for a while. Months I believe. Or at least we've been interested for months. For some time it seemed like our efforts were fruitless. He's a very self-controlled person and a lot of the times we would not get any kind of response from him, so more than once we just decided to screw it and give up trying.

Well... it finally paid off. And interestingly enough, not only did it pay off but it became more. See, in the beginning M and I were really just interested in him for the sex. Or at least that's what we said. I suspect now that we were both interested in him for more than sex but that neither of us said anything because we weren't entirely sure as to the status of our relationship. We had always said that it would be fun to bring in others for play but that the actual relationship would remain between just the two of us. Well, THAT certainly has changed.

After the first time we hooked up with J we both felt more. Somehow it came up naturally in a conversation between M and I and we both laughingly realized that, okay, we both felt a deeper connection with J than just "friend with benefits." We were both really hooked on him. It was amazing how much he opened up. Mr. Nerves of Steel, Never Show Any Emotion Ever, Too Unsure to Open Up Not to Mention a Total Control Freak (wow, would hate to sign that name on a credit card receipt) opened up BIG TIME. The sheer intensity of his openness was literally breathtaking. Actually, more to the point, how well he conveyed that intensity though just his eyes was breathtaking. He is definitely the type of person who only only uses few words, but needs few words.

But yeah. Wow. Pretty much beyond that first day it progressed into something more than friendship, even extended friendship. I feel pretty confident in calling him our partner, our third partner. It's difficult to describe just how it affects me. I almost feel euphoric. I mean, this solves so many of my problems. I've always felt kind of trapped by monogamy, but my pride wouldn't let me be a serial cheater. Plus, M means more to me than any other person ever has, and my conscience just would not let me be unfaithful to her. This just feels so incredibly right and natural. Yes, there have been issues to work out, namely those of balancing attention and actions, and making sure no one feels left out. But otherwise it was like breathing to incorporate him into our relationship.

I can't express how happy it makes me to have found a person like M who is not only open to these things but feels the way I do about them. I couldn't have gotten luckier with her. She is openminded, and willing to try new things, and she loves so deeply and openly but isn't jealous with her love or those she loves.

And J... well, I'm sure there will be more about him in the future. As the third person in this relationship, he is really quite the complement to M and I. He is kinky, toppy, quiet but open (hmm, I seem to like that word for this entry), dirty minded, dry and sarcastic.

It's really just amazing how well polyamory has worked so far. I never thought I would be one to pull it off. But not only it is being pulled off (much like my clothes!) but it's being pulled off with remarkable ease. And like I said, it just feels so damn natural and right.

Oh, and he's got me addicted to Heroes now. I really am gone. ;)

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!

So Why Do We Need Labels, Anyway?

My recent post on my progression from a pansexual to a queer identity got me thinking about this topic. What does it matter so much if I’m pansexual or queer? Obviously the need to define myself is there, otherwise… well, otherwise I wouldn’t worry about it. But I’ve devoted thought and blog posts to the topic, so… where does this need come from?

I have two thoughts regarding this. One is self-validation. Yes, it’s human nature to compartmentalize, to define and label and file away. But I think that instinct goes beyond pigeonholing our surroundings to self-definition as well. To understand ourselves we need definitions, limits, cubbies. It helps us process what might otherwise remain purely instinctual, subconscious knowledge.

My other thought is that we compartmentalize ourselves in order to make ourselves more easily identifiable to others, which falls into the idea that people need to compartmentalize their surroundings. We want to help others put us in a category so we will be understood by them. We crave understanding and sympathy, so we will expedite that process for our peers. Much like the “Hello, My Name Is…” stickers at a meet ‘n’ greet function, we want to make ourselves easily identifiable, so we fill out those stickers in our minds for easy access when needed in the future. Peel and slap.

This is all so subjective, though. I’ve struggled with these thoughts in the past and they were real downers because I was so discouraged by the idea of hard limits. None of this has to be rigid and closed to change. Identity, sexual/gender or otherwise is such a fluid thing. It can change by the day; it can change with the weather, with a mood, with an outfit. Yes, it seems the need for labels is ever-present, but the thing that makes labels bearable (however reluctantly they are utilized) is that much like the aforementioned outfits, they can be changed, shrugged off and stepped into on a whim.

So, heels or flats today?

From Pan to Queer

I couldn’t mark the day I adopted “queer” over “pansexual.” It wasn’t an occasion where I woke up, or stopped short in the middle of doing something with a lightbulb illuminating the crown of my head. It was a more gradual sort of evolution brought on by a combination of factors.

Not least of which is whenever I see or hear the word “pansexual” I automatically think of frying pans. Plus, it just sounds so… scientific. Not that there’s anything wrong with science, but I’m not a fan of cold, laboratory-esque terms around my sexuality. Sexuality is a soft, malleable, golden red word. Pansexual is hard, sterile, gleaming steel and unyielding edges.

Of course, now that I describe it, it still sounds sexy.

Okay. Back on track, woman. There’s also the fact that “queer” is not only easier to say but easier for others to understand. Sure, your typical non-queer person thinks “queer” is synonymous with “homosexual,” which isn’t always the case, but getting any kind of comprehensive response is better than a blank stare.

Oddly enough, queer also feels more comprehensive than pansexual. I couldn’t tell you why that is, since pansexual is a comprehensive term by definition, but there are still those unyielding edges around it that queer doesn’t seem to have. If these terms were people, in my mind pansexual would be the clique who closes ranks and shoulders out anyone new, whereas queer is the crazy, lovable chick going around hugging everybody.

I know I’m probably going to piss at least one person off with that statement. Oh well. Candor for the win.

So there you have it. I’m queer. Among other things. But, as is said, actions make the person, so… I guess I should go be weird now! Oh, wait…

Sex vs. Gender

(Crossposted from my post on the Femmes Guide.)

Sex vs. Gender

An interesting concept, the thought of sex versus gender as though they were two opposing fighters in the boxing ring. Think about it – how often on, say, applications or other miscellaneous forms do you see “Gender: M___ F___” or “Sex: M___ F___?” (The fact that there are only two genders on these forms is a whole other, and often addressed concept.) The vast majority of the world sees these two terms as completely interchangeable, although some might argue that “gender” is slightly more appropriate, given the obvious double-entendre of the word “sex.” (Cue Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me line, “Sex… yes please!”) However, in my cognitive travels, I have reached a fork in the road, with a sign on a pole in the middle:

Yes, please forgive my shoddy photo editing. It gets my point across. And that point is: we are no longer in a time where sex can unerringly equal gender, where the two can be swapped back and forth like partners at a swingers party. If we are to adopt the theory of orbiting in a gender galaxy as opposed to standing in a spot along the linear spectrum of binary gender assignment, then we also have to make the conscious decision to separate the two terms and use both to specify the context in which we are speaking. No longer, I feel, does “sex” always equal “gender.”

Sex, aside from being a pleasurable and sometimes procreative act, should ideally refer to the reproductive and genital organs a person was born with. A person of the male sex would have the XY chromosome, a penis and testes. A person of the female sex would have the XX chromosome, and at the very least a vulva, if not also the vagina, uterus and ovaries. (I am trying to take into account those born with defects. Bear with me, for the sake of my point.) Those who are neither, or in between in the biological sense are often referred to as hermaphrodites, or intersex. (See, there’s that term again. Intersex. Not intergender.)

Gender is a whole other ballgame; one, as mentioned before, often discussed. Gender is a huge hot topic in the world of alternative lifestyle. Going even further beyond the now-well known ideas of transgender and transvestitism are the ideas of genderqueer, cisgender, and genderfuck. Those terms do tie in with the ideas and various practices of transgender – they’re almost “umbrella terms” under which the more specific identities and practices exist – but oddly enough, while transgender and transvestitism are better known and more or less accepted (even if the people who practice them are not), the terms that describe them in their general state are new, buzzworthy, revolutionary even. The genderqueer concepts of “butch” and “femme” in the newly discovered gender galaxy are becoming more widespread and being more deeply explored than ever. No longer is “butch” just a term – or a nickname – for the burly, leather vest wearing, ‘do-rag sporting Harley biker with bad tattoos. No longer does “femme” just bring to mind the movie title Femme Fatale and more importantly, no longer is femme interchangeable with the term “feminine.” The era of gender enlightenment has been born. I for one cannot wait to see it flower into maturity.

The new anti-label movement

Ladies, gentlemen, and all those in between,

I have something profoundly awakening to say.

I do not label. I orbit.

Okay, I know what I'd be thinking if I were on the outside reading this. "Alllllright then! Someone's been knocking back a few too many sneaky quick ones!"

But no, seriously! Read Scarlet's post on labels and identity. Tell me if that does not make the most absolute PERFECT sense ever in the sensical world. Okay, I'm exaggerating, I know this, but holy shit, wow! Think about this. Labels are stuck on things, generally with some sort of adhesive substance that is harder than hell to get off. Hell, they sell products just to remove such adhesive substances! So basically, once a label's on something, it's pretty well on there indefinitely. If you want more labels put on, you have to add them to the labels already there, and soon enough, you're covered in labels, without a hint of original identity left. But orbits, oh, that's something entirely different. If a satellite is orbiting around the primary body, it is becoming a part of the primary body's gravitational pull without being submersed in its atmosphere. It remains its own entity, simply within the influence of the primary body. It can just as easily break free from this orbit and enter into the gravitational pull of an entirely different primary body.

That is what we non-binary people do. This is why we call it a gender galaxy.

God, this is such a huge moment for me. This is my liberation. This IS me standing on top of the smoking rubble that was the unit of pigeonholes. I finally get it.

Another exceedingly valid point raised is this: IF I don't believe in binary gender, then why do I have the term "bio-female" in my profile? (Although funnily enough, in subsequent profiles and bios that I have written, that term is absent. It didn't feel right. Now I know why.) And furthermore, why do I identify as "21F Switch" on FetLife? Why is that not "21GQ Switch?" But... how genderqueer am I? I may not be into binary gender/sexuality, but does the tiny little midget butch inside me really legitimize me embracing the genderqueer identity? Or am I genderqueer simply because I acknowledge that there is more to life than male-born-with-a-penis-female-born-with-a-vagina?

Although for what it's worth, after work I changed into my long, loose denim shorts and stripped down to the black tank I wore underneath my work shirt today, and went to wash the walls in the bathroom in prep for M to paint them. I caught a glimpse of myself in the medicine cabinet mirror, balanced on my tippytoes on a chair, shorts slipping down under my tum, tank top riding up, sweaty hair tendrils flying everywhere as I put sheer force of muscle into scrubbing the walls... and damned if I didn't think I was hot. So maybe I'm more genderqueer than I think.

And in the end, it only matters to a tiny, minute, fractional extent, because if I do identify as genderqueer, it is not ALL of me. It's not stuck on me. It's there, and I am in its orbit. I can break free any time I wish.

MAN that feels good.

A conglomeration

Wow, okay, it's September! A turning of the year, in this climate anyway. Things start cooling down, leaves on trees are fading, students are going back to school...

There's a certain newness in the air that's reflected in my own life. My new job that I start tomorrow, the new 365 Women's Photo Challenge I'm undertaking, and just the simple fact that this blog is still really damn new, and has so many places to go. The anticipation, the sense of untold opportunities is almost overwhelming. Maybe this blog isn't the only thing going places. Maybe I am too. It feels that way, right now at least.

On a somewhat kinkier note, CurvaceousDee turned me on to a photo contest held by Shay at The S Spot, and I wasn't doing anything important last night so M and I entered. My entry is here, and this one is M's. I particularly like M's; mine didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. Win or lose, though, coming up with the ideas and executing them was a lot of fun!

A thought that has been rolling around in my brain lately (banging up against all the other thoughts) is that of titles, and labels. The more I read around - in blogs, on websites I come across - the more titles I am exposed to. Two good examples would be the blog of The Femmenist Fucktoy, and Sinclair Sexsmith's Sugarbutch Chronicles. The discussion and exploration of these various titles and their deeper meanings is fascinating, but there again I find myself using the word "overwhelming," because wow, that's what it is! So many of the things that those two - and others - write about resonates with me on many levels, but at what point do I cap myself off? At what point do I say, "No more labels?" Mostly I identify as femme, but some days I feel butch! And the term "fagette" that ScarletLotus recently wrote about described me almost perfectly (well, minus the optional lesbian part). For a long while I identified as bisexual, but then I finally grasped the term pansexual and, what do you know, it fits, so now I'm that! "Thank you, I'll have the Pansexual Combo with a large side of Femme, a small thing of Butch - lightly salted - annnnd hell, throw in a Fetish for dessert." I have a list blog; I almost want to start a list of all the things that I could and do identify as just to keep them all straight! There are times I just want to throw my hands up in the air and say, "Dammit, I'm just ME! I'm the one standing on top of all these pigeonholes!" I just want to float along in the ocean of gender and sexual identification without washing up on any of its shores. I want to absorb it all.

Still, though, it's fun to discover new facets of my identity because in discovering them, I am generally also discovering new people with whom I can - and sometimes do - make a connection. Dog knows I am desperately trying to make connections anywhere I can, since I live in a fairly conservative backwater where drag queens and trannybois aren't exactly roaming the streets at large. Maybe one day I will be able to talk about these things face to face with somebody. Until then, the musings of bloggers more enlightened than I remain my only salvation.