You can call me… Brendle (my chosen feminine version of my given name, Brendan)
I identify as… Antigender. You say gender-fluid? I say my gender evaporated into a gas and escaped into space sometime during college. Under my exterior I am a mischievous postmodern genderpunk from an alternate reality with no gender-specific pronouns, no societal misunderstandings, and no fucking laws. Before you bust out that label-maker and apply what is tantamount to a slur to me, why don’t you try to get to know me first?
As far as third-person pronouns go, … Brendle or Ulysses. If you have to call me anything at all that isn’t my name, call me Ulysses. But only after you’ve read it.
I’m attracted to… Baristas, bookworms, teachers, librarians, writers, scholars, readers, guys who almost (but not totally) get away with dressing up like Tina Fey, and all other knowledge-seekers. You don’t read books? You don’t even show up on my sexual radar.
When people talk about me, I want them to… Look at me in the eyes for who I am. I’m usually holding a stack of books over my privates for a reason. Check out my wit, my jokes, my body language, my posing style. I’m a PERSON!!!
I want people to understand… What matters in life doesn’t lie between your legs, it’s your mind. The body? The sex? It’s all just chocolate, and you can find a new bar.
I’m 23 and in college. Battling the norm and taking it day by day. Born male, now not so sure I fall in any category I’ve ever heard of. Nowadays when I’m asked about my gender, I say “I’ll give you two guesses and they’ll both be wrong.”
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