Since I’ve covered being Gender-fluid, I wanted to talk about my experiences a bit more, specifically in the ways I broke the roles I was placed into by my Gender Assigned at Birth (GAAB). Today, I examine the masculinity of the past.
As a kid, I made a very poor attempt at being a girl. Occasionally, I would wear a dress and delight in the looseness of the fabric. Most of the time, however, I resented being thrown in with a group that was commonly associated with brushing hair, dancing and spending an extraordinary amount of time shopping.
On hot summer days, I balked at the idea of wearing a shirt. At one point, I insisted on being let out of the house without one. My mother relented and I walked into my local neighborhood bare-chested. A five year old girl in jeans, some tennis shoes and no shirt walked to the neighbor’s house. When my feet hit the drive, I paused and looked down. Something felt wrong in this picture. After thinking hard, I went back home and put on a shirt. It was a moment that shaped my life more than I could realize. Now, I understand the fear that I grappled with has everything to do with feeling promiscuous, and possible child kidnapping.
Even at five years old, I was conscious that men acted on their perceptions and someone would see a girl without a shirt, make assumptions, and very possibly act on them.
At the age of 9, I spent more time sitting on toilets than was good for me. I found it was a great place to think, and I had such a lot to think about at that age. One day, as I sat, I examined my own body. It occurred to me that I could alter the stream of my urine if I clenched in the right way. I sat, moving my pubic mound up and down, imagining it turning into a tiny penis. All of my instincts told me it was strange to imagine these things, but they felt right to me.
At age 11, my father passed away. My mother and sister took it hard, but I was oblivious to what it meant. Death was a very different concept at 11. I pulled the household into action. I learned how to clean and cook on my own so that my family could own it’s grief. I talked to my dog about how he was the man of the family now. Now, it occurs to me that I might have been talking about me instead.
At age 15, I’ve learned to masturbate silently in my room. The smell of my own genitals was strange on my hands. In order to defend from this, I used a sock to cover my fingers. It created a new sensation on my genitals, and I began to understand why young boys might use them for a similar purpose. (Wow, I was so young and full of weird ideas.)
From the age I started masturbating in my own bed, I found my fantasies both fulfilling and confusing. Usually, I got off fastest when I was fantasizing about a heteronormative white couple having fairly vanilla intercourse (this makes me laugh now). But instead of being just a spectator or even in the female role, I was usually fantasizing from the perspective of the male.
As I found my correct gender terms, my past began to make more sense to me. I’m very glad that I don’t subscribe to one gender anymore. This freedom to explore has been amazing. Though some see me only as a woman, I know that I have more masculinity in me than they think.