You can call me… “the trans boy with the thorn in his side”
I identify as… a trans fag top who dearly misses his lost gay boyhood. Therefore, I am over-obsessed with recapturing it, through skateboarding, surfing, listening to The Smiths, and watching melodramatic films about pretty gay adolescents.
As far as third-person pronouns go, … he. And not, “He? heeheeheehee you’re a fucking girl!!” Unfortunately I’ve heard this crap before.
I’m attracted to… beautiful sensitive fem boys who like to be topped and don’t care that my big cock isn’t attached to me permanently. Boys who know that no matter how much a top I am in bed, I am a total sensitive basket case sissy outside of it.
When people talk about me, I want them to… NOT compare me to “Joan Jett” or “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” or ANYTHING ELSE related to “tough bad-ass girl dyke.” Zero-to-four for the LOSE, people. I am not tough OR bad ass, nor am I a girl, nor do I like to fuck girls or get fucked by them. Sorry to interrupt your little world where every person declared female at birth, who doesn’t identify with that, is automatically considered a ‘tough dyke’.
I want people to understand… that had I been born with a dick, I would not have to fight so hard for anyone to understand who I am. Instead, I would fit perfectly into your ‘sad prettyboy faggot’ box. Not that fitting into a box is ideal either (it sucks as well), but it appalls me that my misfortune with the gender lottery has made EVERYONE unable to understand me or question my gender/sexuality (“But you’re pretty! How do you want to be a boy?” “Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?”) when if I HAD won the gender lottery, I’d be perfectly comprehensible to them. Sad and arbitrary.
About “the trans boy with the thorn in his side”
I love cats, writing, scuba diving, paragliding, melancholy music, cultural critique, my amazing boyfriend, gay boy porn (trans and cis), surfing, skateboarding, reading, fantasizing, drinking, sleeping, my flat chest, baseball (my bf and I turn baseball games into homoerotic fantasies), and wishing that there were future lives so I could have a dick, because I feel (and always have felt since the age of eight) that I have a phantom limb attached to me “down there,” which is incredibly frustrating.
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