cRule world
bite-my-grimy-fleshy-ass Follow Feb19,2024
A cute guy likes me on a dating app. After chatting with them for
weeks, we decide to go on a date. They are very flirtatious and forward
over the app, but not when we meet in person. He admits he thought I
was transmasc like him, we laugh about it because his mistake is
funny and means I'm not passing but in a silly backwards way. I think
his sudden awkwardness in person may be nervousness and flirt with
him in ways less forward and aggressive than he’d been flirting with
me earlier, and they become cold and distant for the rest of the date.
By the time I get home they’ve blocked me on the app we met on. This
case of being mistaken as a transmasc on a dating app will happen 3
more times, and in 2/3 times it results in a similar sudden lack of
interest where once they were coming on to me. None of these people
will be cis.
I am in a self defense class for queer people, learning hand to hand
combat as a community. I have been here months. I notice I'm the
only transfem in the classes but there are other trans people there so I
don't think much of it. Today I have some stubble as I did not have
time to shave before the early morning class. When discussing
unrealistic action movie and anime fight scenes I describe on of my.
favorites, quoting the lines as I pantomime the goofy moves. They
smile and laugh along until the word bitch leaves my lips in one quote,
then the bisexual woman who only ever they/thems me glares at me
like I've committed a grevious crime, and the rest of the class looks at
me like a freak in awkward silence for a moment before moving on. I
learn bitch is not a word a clocky bitch can "reclaim’. 1 am quiet in
classes now, and when I go I focus primarily on the training, when I
see other trans women try it out they often give me a sad look and do
not return for a second class. I get a sinking feeling that if I ever use
this training to save my life one day I'd be branded a violent man
instead of a strong woman.
I am texting with a good friend of years who was one of the people
who helped me realize I was trans like them and even the one who
helped pick out my name loves talking about our shared interests and
sharing their favorite smut with me. We bond over favorite stories,
artists, characters, and kinks as well as our trans experience. Yet they
constantly tell me they could never date someone who's AMAB
because of the trauma of being “female socialized" and their genital
preferences for vulvas. Every compliment they have ever given me on
my appearance or outfit is followed up by "but in a non-sexual way, I
could never date you". Today I finally have the courage tell them they
don't need to say that every time. They ignore this response. We keep.
talking for awhile, but they start taking months to respond to my
messages and respond with a short sentence at most. They no longer
share details about their life and shut me out when I ask or share
details about mine, even the most mundane and chaste details. I stop
talking to them. A birthday gift I bought them months before this
falling out happened looms at me in my closet. I cannot use it as it
doesn't fit me but can't bring myself to throw it away, just in case we
reconcile one day. I feel pathetic for craving friendship with someone
who sees me as "abuser-bodied’, that so much of my early stages
would've been impossible without their help. I feel a little more lost
without them.
am at a queer/trans/enby kink dance party with some friends. I am
scantily clad and wearing a skirt and high heeled boots. I do not pass
well so this space is one of the few places I feel safe and free dressing
like this. It is packed with queer and trans people just like me engaged
in delightful debauchery and wearing very little. The music hurts my
ears but I'm happy to be here, I feel overstimulated but alive and
authentic. I am approached by a beautiful stranger from across the
dance floor, she is graceful and stylish, like some modern Galadriel
clad in leather, white lace, and industrial piercings with impeccable
voice training. She compliments my outfit, I compliment hers. She
tells me I need to shave my armpits if I want to look like a real woman.
My two friends stand up for me and yell at her. They assure me she
was just being an asshole, that women were supposed to be hairy, but
I can't help but notice how both of them have hairy armpits and yet
the "advice" targeted me. The wide range of bodies that people here
tonight find desirable on cis women don't seem to apply to the women
like me. I am the only one of us that doesn't go home with a hookup at
the end of the night. I realize now she likely spoke from experience. I
am still hurt by her words, but realizing the kinds of experiences she
must have had herself to feel her words were kind advice hurts far
worse.
Alocal queer photographer who's work I follow is looking for women &
non-binary models for a photoshoot. I have become comfortable with
getting photos taken of me for the first time in my life since my egg
cracked, and had a few small time modeling gigs under my belt. With
something like this I could actually have the beginnings of a portfolio. I
reach and am told that they are not looking for trans women models,
nly women and AFABS'. Getting the same line I get from agencies
from an independent queer photographer repackaged in "woke"
terminology stings. I see many queer and nonbinary models I looked
up to take part in the shoot. I have to wonder if they knew that the
photographer's definition of woman didn't include trans women, or if
like me in my martial arts class they noticed no transfems were there
but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people
there.
Itis years ago and I am still an egg. I am with my partner of 4 years. I
am exhausted after a long day. She asks me for sex in the voice that I
know means saying no will hurt her. I learned from her long ago men
have high and insatiable sex drives, therefore saying no meant I
wanted to have sex, just not with her. So I say yes. The sex s painful
and unsatisfying, and I simply do my best to thrust through the
discomfort until she cums. I feel numb and hurt. She enjoys herself
but seems sad I did not cum. I assure her I love her. When we hold
eachother after my obligation has been met and I finally feel
comfortable and safe. We begin talking. She talks about the trashy
women she saw on the street today, describing their cringe outfits and
ugly styles and bad hair. All the styles and clothes and hair I yearn to
try myselfin my deepest and most repressed desires. I change the
subject and ask her about work and family. She asks if Id still love her
if she were a man and I say yes. She says she would still love me if I
were a woman. Something in that statement feels like a lie. It is
months later when we break up and I move out. Now that Iama
woman I look back and know from our years together that if I were a
woman then shed hate the kind of woman I'd become. That if I were a
woman she'd still have the same expectations of me as a man, that her
refusal of sex equated an impersonal not being in the mood but my
refusal of sex equated a cruel refusal of love.
A lesbian group begins organizing a queer woman's strip night event.
A safe place for amateur performers to shine and women to perform
and enjoy sexuality away from the male gaze. I see no transfems in the
promotional material o leadership team, and I've learned not to think
nothing of it just because there are other trans people there. I do not
go.
I am talking with my therapist. They are trans too and an amazing
therapist, often providing insights and advice only someone else with
the lived experience of being trans can. I express distress and suicidal
ideation at the fact I feel like I need to pass before I can dress the way I
want. That until I get expensive hair removal procedures and FFS I can
never feel safe and welcome presenting authentically. I lament how
these things are expensive and may never be accessible to me. They
tell me I need to deal with my "internalized transphobia’, as if these
feelings aren't a result of constant rejection and othering by external
forces even within queer spaces. As if the scrap of womanhood others
sometimes acknowledge in me does not rely on their perceptions of
me.
There is a publication accepting works from trans people of all stripes
to document trans experiences. It gets flamed for not having a single
transfem as a contributor. The people behind it apologize profusely,
they say didn't notice no transfems had sent work in and would do a
sequel publication that was transfem-centric. I wonder if anyone had
noticed there were no transfems but didn't think much of it because
there were other trans people there. I think about the kinds of spaces
I've seen like that, and the implications it has about how they treat
transfems, and I am unsurprised no transfems submitted.
One of my closest friends for years is very supportive of me when I
first begin crossdressing and experimenting with they/them
pronouns. She gives me suggestions on cute clothes to wear and
takes me shopping as well as asks for pictures. We had helped
eachother discover we were both queer as young teens, come to
terms with it, and navigate it in a hostile environment, so I have
complete trust. We are close enough we are frequently asking
eachother advice on serious life choices & relationships, sending
nudes for critique + tips before sending them to our partners, and
sharing our most secret and vulnerable moments. She often asks me
for tips on getting her straight boyfriends into pegging and
crossdressing that make me slightly uncomfortable but I don't mind,
she is a loyal friend I would endure a great many discomforts for. I host
a lunch for us one day, and come out to her as a trans woman. I tell her
my new name, say I no longer use he/him pronouns, and thank her for
her support on my journey thus far. She launches into a monologue
about how by changing my name I am throwing away all our memories
together and spitting in the face of my family. Taken aback by her
sudden heel turn after being so supportive of me being nonbinary and
GNC, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to get a break and give
her some time to process. When I am in the bathroom trying not to
cry, she is on the phone. I overhear her misgendering me as she is
talking about me being bisexual in a frightened voice. She sounds truly
afraid that I intend to be sexually violent towards her. When I leave the
bathroom and sit back down I pretend not to have heard. She gets off
the phone, saying she was just chatting with her boyfriend. We talk a
bit longer, she explains how "the surgery” is dangerous and
experimental and she hopes I won't get it. I assure her I won't and do
my best to change the subject and hope she comes around after some
time to process things, hurt and shocked that what I saw as a natural
shift in the path I was already on marked me as frightening in her eyes
after knowing eachother for over a decade. That a fellow bisexual
suddenly saw my bisexuality as dangerous now that I was asserting
myself as a trans woman. I say goodbye to her, and she says goodbye
to me using my deadname, I do ot risk an argument to correct her. It
is months after the meeting we have not seen eachother since and she
has not responded to any messages I sent. After reflecting on her
reaction further I decide that I don't really want to spend time with
someone who thinks these things about me for my own safety and
mental health, regardless of our history. A friend of 14 years who
supported my queerness and transness gone the instant I crossed an
intangible woman-shaped line that marked me as a predator and
invader in her eyes.
I log online and day after day see trans women getting banned and
harassed. Seeing baseless callout posts calling them groomers and
abusers getting taken seriously by other queer and trans people.
Seeing proof that deep down so many people I consider kindred spirits
see me and people like me as worthy of intense scrutiny and policing
to keep "the queer community” safe and united. The blocklist grows
but everything stays the same. I treasure the people in my life who
don't take part in this and would do anything for them, but it seems
they get fewer each time.
'm not making this post to seek sympathy, I am used to this kind of
shit and far worse has happened to myseif and others. I just make this
to llustrate transmisogyny is not some "online-only” issue like people
claim. Even if online issues weren't "real” (as healed is fond of saying,
“online is real”) this has tangible effects in the way trans women are
treated offline as well. By communities, friends, partners, colleagues,
systems, etc. That's why we talk about it.
So much of the discussions people have paint transmisogyny as some
online oppression olympics maliciously trying to divide the
community, smear transmascs, and “reinvent bioessentialism’. That is
not what it is about. Discussions about transmisogyny is about how
we are treated for being what we are, and while related to transphobia
and misogyny it is seperate because it often represents doors other
trans people and women can walk through that transfems cannot. It
has affected me in my most intimate moments when I was with other
trans and queer people I felt safe around, and taught me that I need to
carefully manage my persona and presentation at all times lest my
authenticity be branded "male socialization’. I am even terrified to
express attraction to people who express attraction towards me
because I'm so used to being treated like a predator upon
reciprocating or being used and abandoned by people I trusted. I am
terrified to be too excited about shared interests with friends lest I be
too loud or talkative about it and branded with aggressive male
socialization. So I make myself quiet and small, and shrink from the
community and people I care about, and become more and more
isolated.
Anyways, stop platforming anons who spread lies about trans women,
stop hopping on TERF harassment campaigns because the trans gal
they're smearing "gave you bad vibes’, and maybe consider carefully if
in your own life where you draw the line for a transfem's behavior is
any different from where you'd draw the line for anyone who's not one.
