Lots of moving stuff above.
I just did. I had a neighbour who was trans, and an innate sense that she was what I would have to do.
But what I don't get - I came from a really liberal family, where anything was ok 'as long as you're happy' - and I just didn't do anything about it. No shame, no disappointment. I'll be really brutal and hope nobody is offended - disgust. That is what I felt. Not for other people, they can do what they like. But for me.
Revulsion. At the thought of surgery (I hate even giving blood), at being pitied (shouted at in hostility I can more than deal with), etc. I don't like conflict - I hate it - but if it's brought to my door, or done in front of me to someone, I'll enter it, on any level - I'll take it harder and lower than it would've gone otherwise. And not even on a male 'prove yourself' level - that if anything would make me drop it. Just on a 'go away and never come back' level.
I can come up with a couple of excuses as to doing nothing about it - I went to a very posh day school, things like that - but nothing that explains my abject horror of what was really going on. And it was (still is) abject horror, although the silent screaming panic has lessened since I admitted to myself and a therapist, and subsequently family and friends.
I can see certain points in hindsight where I could've and should've done something. Most prominently at the age of 15. But I just wanted it to go away. Obviously at 15, nothing is going away, it's all starting. And you've already had three or four years of attraction and knowing exactly why and what you're attracted to.
Obviously that's not something that's discussed, so like a couple of others above, I thought, maybe fantasy is just fantasy. Maybe everyone has strange conflicted attraction to the Italian school star football player, where they have to be female in order for it to work. Who knows! Maybe everyone cries when they find out their friend has had him instead. Who knows!
I had an openly gay friend who used to wax lyrical about this guy. I never did, I just listened, because my fantasy was very far from that. And rammed home when my friend rang during the summer holidays to tell me she'd shagged him. That was a really painful phonecall, and one of the few during my entire teens that didn't last a good couple of hours. I couldn't wait to hang up.
I used to look at myself in the mirror for hours and say, well, as long as that doesn't change much I can cope, as long as that bit doesn't expand into male territory I can cope, providing nothing like going bald happens, I could probably cope. Ha - all about coping, nothing about living. I knew what I'd need in order to live well rather than 'have a good time, some of the time'.
The most devastating part of my teens was having to buy a razor for my face. I was completely horrified by that, thought it was the most disgusting experience, and like being psychologically slapped across the face every morning, before you've even left the house. Thank god I never did go bald, or have a brow (instinctively I knew the brow was the thing, and the feature that would damage me/take me into 'no way' territory. Oddly, it's the feature I find most appealing in men...
And on men, I went through a couple of hundred. Clearly they wanted a gay partner which I couldn't give them. The only ones I could enjoy and see again were ones who left certain body parts well alone. And of those, those who just did, rather than being guided away or outright told not to. Brutally, I could cut a couple of hundred down to about six, which kind of feels offensive to them, because there was nothing wrong with them.
On that rough number, friends who know it have expressed some disbelief about all this. Everyone else has said 'oh that makes sense, it all fits now' but those who know me primarily via that route have invariably said 'but you're a complete slut, I thought you loved it'. No, and I'd been born as I knew I should've been, you could easily knock a zero off the grand total, and that would be in the ballpark of what I'm actually comfortable with. And the sexual response mechanism - the warm up, the nipple orgasm, etc - is clearly not what most gay men are after, so on a fundamental level, it never worked.
I can think of about three people it worked with. One of whom I was so horrible to he emigrated to Australia. I still wish now that I could just apologize and explain, because he was lovely, and exactly what I would've picked if I'd been born female - tall, dark, handsome, brilliant in bed, so stupidly generous we used to argue about it. He had perfect long black eyelashes framing these lazy dark eyes. I really miss him. I would walk to Australia just for the chance to apologize and explain. I hope he's happy.
Another that I met in GAY Astoria, which was a big gay club in central London years ago. We had a sexual relationship that fizzled into a friendship. For reasons obvious enough to me. When I told him everything, he came to see me - he took four days off work to talk it all through. He said he'd never been anything but gay, and found women sexually off putting, but he'd make an exception. That was lovely, but neither of us would be happy with that.
And a workman, a few years younger than me, who had just got married and didn't really want to be. With the body of a workman who'd spent most of summer doing hard work outside. A really gentle guy who'd give a good time while having one, and then get to the better part - skinning up a joint and generally looking amazing while doing it wearing nothing. I wanted my flat at the time to be like his sanctuary, as much as it was mine. That worked for a while, and I do love a man with a Liverpool accent.
All connected by their fantastic tans, height, pretty but still very male faces - all good brows, great bodies - and a bit hairy, top notch sexual skill, quirky little habits, broad outlook, a level of kindness that is innate rather than to get what they want. Yes, I definitely have a type. There were a handful of others from that cohort, including a couple who guessed the T thing (who were ordered straight out of the door for their impertinence), but those are the three who I owe for a brilliant non gendered time.
On a more superficial level, I knew on every level. I'd go shopping for my mothers birthday or whatever - standing in Jimmy Choo, and in heaven/hell and having to get her size instead of mine. Congratulating friends on their pregnancies, going to their weddings. And the only thing making me feel better was 'I wouldn't have a baby with your husband if he was the last man alive/I wouldn't be seen dead wearing that'. Which are not nice things to think about good friends, but it was all I had. And if I didn't do anything, it'd be all I'd ever have.
I didn't have any problems around 'rough housing' or anything like that. The vast majority of my friends were girls, but I was as happy climbing a tree or breaking into a construction site as I was with a Barbie or sitting in a circle. I hated the way women were treated and stereotyped from the age I could observe such things, it was a really deep discomfort. I hate the way men are stereotyped too come to that, but that's not it as you've all experienced.
Apologies for the length of this post.
