A gay day

Just a quick entry with a couple of today's thoughts. First two paragraphs I wrote around 10am this morning, the rest within the last hour or so. This entry is the total opposite to my previous one. It's been a good day. Wow, it's been a long time since I last said that. A good day? Was a while ago.

I just woke up and remember my dreams! One of them was really nice and woke me up with a smile. It was super gay and sweet. Lots of women flirted with me, and I was kissing, making out and just playfully goofing around with them. That was probably the nicest dream I've had in a very, very... very long time. Cause it was just so sweet, light-hearted and fluffy feel-good. No one treated me bad in that dream, and I didn't feel bad in any way, it was just flirty, cuddly and giggly. Soft, fun, sweet and sexy. And I was seen/treated as a woman, entirely, and also I had nice boobs that made me feel good about being topless and touched.

Because I haven't been able to remember my dreams since detransing until now, I don't know if boobs have been on me in any previous dreams or not. But if not, then this was the first dream of mine ever to show my body as looking different from what it actually looks like in reality. And that makes me smile really wide, cause that's very dysphoria alleviating! I felt so good and nice about my body in that dream. Like I had no discomfort about what I looked like and just thrived in all that cosy lesbian cuddling. The dream was only mildly sexual, like soft porn, I guess. Like there were no pussies involved in the dream, but all that deep french kissing and intense boob squeezing and topless flirting was really not straight. And everyone was horny for me and each other in that dream. Like it was just one huge lesbian orgy. I think it might have been a party, but I'm not sure, it was sometimes outdoors in like a sparse forest area and sometimes a city, and sometimes it was in indoors areas like someone's home. Maybe the frequent changing of settings represent that I have/will always love women regardless of where I am? I like that thought though.

Oh fuck, I'm on qruiser and this super hot woman messaged me... several hours ago and now we're in deep conversation. She lives far away though (in fucking south Sweden) but she invited me to go to a concert in Denmark with her and then go to her place and party and well yes also fuck... and I'm kinda seriously considering it. I mean, she's not just hot, she's pretty much the exact kind of girl I want to meet, near perfect damn it. So it's kinda hard to just say no cause of distance.

She looks kinda punk-rock butch and very hardcore but has like some sweetness to her as well and that's just super enticing for me. Also a great looking body as far as I can see from her photos. Kinda curvy thin and a bit muscular. If I had a type for women she would be it. She's around my age. Personality-wise I really dig her too. Like kinda brutal and very straight forward, but she's kind too and brags about being very good at giving amazing orgasms... Like is she for real even?! And yeah, she's definitely into women, told me she's been in serious relationships with women and isn't even into men. She thinks I'm really sexy too. Also, she's trans mtf. But that has no bearing on how I'm attracted to her and wanting to fuck her. I'm just kinda... ah, unf?

I think I've gotten a pretty good connection with her already too. Like at least I notice some kind of spark of sexiness going on between us. But granted, meeting in real life may be different. But in my experience, usually for the better. We'll see though, where that may or may not lead. But I think I'd at least really like just hanging out with her even if sex somehow turns out disappointing for one or both of us. But fuck I can't say I'm not excited about the possibilities! Oh, my! But I'll need to sleep now. After I've taken my vagifem and masturbated to some random fantasies about her. Considering how constantly horny I've been these past several hours, I think cumming will be way too easy. I'm gonna try to draw it out with some serious edging, I think.

Not to brag but I'm just literally too good at making myself cum, especially these days. If I'm not holding back and edging at least some 5-10 times, it's over in like 10 seconds and I'm too post-orgasm-hyper-sensitive to be able to continue. What a first world "problem" huh? But yeah, bed now. I'll catch ya' later.

I'll call this entry "A gay day" cause the word gay also means happy, so you've got a double-meaning there.

The picture of my pain

It just struck me right now... that when I lived as a guy but was still pre-op chest wise, I never managed to imagine myself with a flat chest. Like when I tried to it just became the image of a blurry, nipple-less wall of skin with no details at all. Like a badly photoshopped photo. But now that I imagine my chest with new boobs, I can not only imagine a pair in what I think would be a reasonable density/firmness of silicone/saline implants, or a size I think I'd feel very comfy and pretty with, but also what my actual nipples could look like on them and even some random scarring under them. I do improvise with what sort of scarring I think I'd end up with though, and where my current scars could likely end up.

But not only that, I can also imagine what they could feel like in my hands, being squeezed around, their weight, and also that I think it would actually amuse me that they'd stand upright when I'd lying down on my back, which natural boobs don't do. I think I'd really love just playing with them on my own. Very carefully and gently at first, then more intensely as they'd heal from the surgery. And I think it would be very good to do that first before letting someone else touch them. To just familiarise myself with them, and see if I could figure out what sort of touch I may like or dislike, etc. Almost like masturbation! Actually, I'd definitely include boob touching into my masturbation routine then.

It's just not quite sexually satisfying for me to touch my breast forms while masturbating. Cause I just want to feel it but I don't and I can't, and that leaves me with an empty, hollow feeling. Like no matter how far I stretch my arm I simply cannot reach.

Okay I just spent an hour or so googling info and images of breast reconstruction surgery after mastectomy. I saw several pictures of women who got simply implants (and some also new nipples but that doesn't apply to me) and that was helpful for me to see where their mastectomy scars ended up. Somehow it wasn't quite what I had expected and this gives me more to think about. Also remembering that the location of my scars used to align with where my nipples formerly were. I think I would end up with one of two outcomes that I can't quite figure out which one:
1.) My nipples don't need to be relocated and end up at the peak of the boobs, then my mastectomy scars will run across the boobs but a couple cm under the nipples, visible from straight ahead but not centered on the middle.
2.) They will need to be relocated to end up at the peaks, then my mastectomy scars will run right across the boobs with the nipples at the centers of them, and the scars would be horizontal across the boobs when looking at them straight ahead.

Either way though, those mastectomy scars will also continue towards the sides under my arms. I wonder how or if they can be stretched. Because looking at the pictures online it seems those women's scars could and did stretch quite a lot. Length-wise, I mean. But also a little in width. I'd be fine with that, I guess.

As for reconstructed boobs in general, the ones with just implants put in look far better (in my opinion) than the ones made of tissue from other parts of the body. Those do look kinda... ugh I don't want to be mean, but... a little patchwork-like and awkward, to put it as kindly as I can. And that is quite off-putting for me, I have to admit. Cause if that turns out to be my only option... I'm seriously gonna have to think about it. It's pretty much for the same reason some phalloplasty dicks tend to look... kinda undesireable and not entirely dick-like. That those breasts then also, in very much the same way, also look kinda undesireable (to me) and not entirely breast-like. Like they look very obviously unnatural and hand-made.

I'm young, highly sexual, want to get new breasts to increase my confidence and reduce my intense dysphoric feelings... so if the only kinds of boobs I could get would be impeeding on my confidence and make me feel like I look like a creation of Frankenstein, especially with sex partners... my self-image would undoubtedly also suffer. Like if I would end up not wanting to take off my bra even after surgery... I wouldn't have improved my confidence much at all. So if at all possible, I definitely want to avoid having to add extra skin flaps from other parts of my body. But if I simply don't have enough skin on my chest to stretch for implants... I'm gonna have to consider getting such flaps, and really think that through.

Like would that be better than staying flat? Yeah... yeah it most likely would. Cause it's the flatness itself that bothers me the most, and not being able to show clevage with clothing, and that there's simply nothing there when I feel with my hands. So even if I could only get boobs that I'd not like the aesthetics of while bare, I'm pretty sure that the feeling of them simply being there, even if I'd always hide them in bras, would still be a lot better than how it is now. Although very far from ideal.

So, after only having thought about it for like 2 minutes... yeah, I most likely would do it even if that would be my only option to get new boobs. But I'd likely also struggle to love them. I'd like them and be happy to have them, and be relieved of much of dysphoria, but that alone is not love. An absense of feeling utterly horrible about my chest is not loving my chest. That is being okay, accepting, but not exactly extatic about it. If I'll end having to go that route, I'll likely beat myself up even more for having had that mastectomy to begin with. I think it would fill me with a very strong grief that my chest would simply never look good again, and being unable to do anything about it. And always feel broken. And that's a tragedy I'd rather not have to deal with.

Another detransitioner told me that he sees his transition surgery scars as "battle scars" and I like that sentiment. I don't know which surgeries he had, I only know that he had been on estrogen for 17 years, needs to take testosterone for his detransition and that he had some sort of gender transition surgery/-ies. I didn't want to be too prying and ask such a question. I know that can be very sensitive, but of course my mind wanders to exactly what sort of surgeries it might be that he wishes he hadn't done. But anyhow, what he said makes me want to refer to my mastectomy scars as battle scars too. It almost looks like someone tried to cut my heart out, or take the air out of my lungs, but I survived that, and the wounds healed.

And I'll always be scarred, one way or another. And scars themselves are not something I consider ugly or unsightly, or even necessarily undesireable. But sometimes they carry a lot of emotions with them, if they're reminders of a painful past, or decision. Like for every time someone who sees my self harm scars on my arms comments on them and tells me I shouldn't harm myself, that is a painful reminder that no matter how many years of not cutting myself, someone is always gonna come by and talk to me as if I was still actively creating more new wounds. It's been 3 years. Every self-inficted scar on my body is at least 3 years old. I've quit for good. But strangers don't see my past when they look at me, and they judge. And they don't trust me when I say I've quit. Having my past being interpreted as my present time, over and over again, is painful and frustrating.

And just as likely, I think people will continue to ask me about "my chest surgery" even decades from now. I know I have a picture of my pre-op chest somewhere. I've been wanting to look at it again, but also I worry that doing so would fill me with emotions too heavy to bear. So I keep postponing it. But I should, shouldn't I? I should, I know that I should. I want to, but fuck it hurts.

Fuuuck... they were beautiful. Such heavy grief hit me instantly, like a block of lead in my heart, weighing me down into my chair, as I look at that picture. That one and only picture ever taken of my bare pre-op chest. It doesn't show my face, but I know I was distressed when I took the photo. It was just a few days before the surgery. It's a little blurry but clear enough to see. They're small but not tiny, and not really saggy, still kinda round. And that's after 5 years of binding. I can't remember what they felt like. My mind has forgotten. But I want to leap into that picture and feel them again. At least for just one last, very loving goodbye. But I'll never feel them again. Oh fuck I really miss them now. Fuck, size doesn't matter now that I see what they actually looked like. I want them back. I want them back so bad...

Latent tears... Even in this moment I cannot cry, but my nose is running extra much as though I'm crying, and I can feel the pressure from within. Please, let me cry... I'm begging please... it's been 3 fucking months of needing to release tears but they just won't reach out. It has built up a pressure that is now literally causing me a headache and nausea. Or that's me being starved cause I haven't eaten today, I don't know, but this pressure of internal tears made it worse. I might need to puke soon, cause I'm not feeling too good.

If there was just one thing I could go back in time to undo, it would be that surgery. It's rare, very very rare, that I regret something so completely that I wish it entirely undone. I think this might even be the only such thing ever in my entire life. I just took a painkiller some 30 minutes ago but it's getting increasingly worse and my head literally feels several kg heavier. But this grief is nearly tearing me apart, it feels like something's shattering inside me. Like glass being crushed against my ribs. But I can't get my natural breasts back. The only thing I can do is to mourn them and the loss of them. And try my hardest to get reconstruction financially covered. And if not, beg my parents to pay for it with their retirement savings. I'll get it somehow, cause I can't continue like this forever.

Granted, it's only been 3 months and surgery is far away either way. I can't know what I'll feel in 1 or 2 years from now. Maybe most of my grieving process will be over by then, or maybe I'll cry all the way to the operation table. I suddenly feel a slight loss of control of my entire body. I can't feel it as much. My hands are slowly going numb. Am I passing out, or dissociating, or getting sick? Not that I care or even worry in the slightest, it's just a bit weird and makes writing difficult. Perhaps I'm just tired and exhausted. Or I'm coming down with a fever, or it's just my headache. Sometimes when it gets really bad, it causes nausea and loss of sensation in the rest of my body. I don't know why. I think it affects my blood flow somehow, or it's my blood flow that slows down which then in turn worsens my headache and causes nausea cause not enough blood in my brain. I've no fucking idea.

But it seems kinda likely that my blood flow has slowed down quite a lot right now, but it's happening very slowly so I don't crash quickly and I'm still conscious. Perhaps not for much longer. If my vision starts to blacken, I'm gonna lie down in my bed, cause no use trying to write at that point anyhow. I wonder if I can go out for a cigarette without crashing or if I'd just fall over halfway to my balcony. I kinda need a smoke but not sure if I can manage it physically.

It doesn't seem to be getting worse. Perhaps it is just psychological, or psychosomatic. It's hard to tell, but I seem to be getting better now, actually. My hands feel almost normal again and my head feels slightly lighter. Maybe the painkiller is working after all. Sometimes those fuckers just take half an eternity to do their damn thing. I should go to bed soon anyway. I'll post this as edited as I can manage. Mainly just tying up some loose ends. Maybe drinking som fluid replacement stuff can help a bit. Some electrolytes might be just what I'm lacking. I think I should be able to stand up and walk around by now. Just carefully. Yep, working, but my balance is fucked. Okay I got my cigarette and I didn't crash anywhere.

Yeah, I miss my boobs. More than I can even fathom it myself. Not having them anymore makes me feel like I have two holes in my chest. Like a porcelain doll that got stabbed twice. And the gaping abyss from inside the hollow doll that is staring back at me is dark, cold and heavier than a mountain. It is pain, concentrated and thick. And it's seeping out through the two holes, as though the doll is filled with fluid, and it seeps out like the tears I can't cry. And that is my mental image of exactly in what way I feel broken. Like that porcelain doll. That's the centre of my pain, just centimetres from my heart. Like someone smashed my ribs in where my boobs used to be, and I'm mentally bleeding from the impact that repeats over and over every day. And like I'm not just flat, but carved open and hollowed out. I made a terrible, utterly devastating, mistake. And I cannot call it anything other than a mistake. I betrayed myself, very very deeply. I do not know how, or even if, I can heal that mental wound.

Reminder and freak out

Oh fuck, I had somehow forgotten... what if I'm pregnant?! I never got myself tested since that guy I fucked came in me. That stalker guy whom I eventually ended up having sex with despite being creeped out by him. He came in my vag at least once, maybe it was twice. When even was that... one or two months ago? Er, no idea. Okay my older blog post about that event tells me that was August 12th, which is a little over 5 weeks ago.

That could maybe possibly explain my weird stomach pains and possibly my extreme cravings for cake and chocolate. But I mean of course it's not likely... right? Like maybe I would have noticed more symptoms if I'm really 5 weeks pregnant? Like I've gotten no morning sickness, but then not everyone does. And uh okay according to google that wouldn't likely happen before week 6 anyhow. However I've been kinda bloated... I did notice a week or so ago that my stomach does look a bit bigger than normally, which I thought was weird, cause I've not gotten bigger anywhere else... which is not normal for how fat usually adds onto my body when I gain weight. It usually only goes onto my thighs/ass. And I rarely ever get bloated.

I did look up symptoms for week 5 and I only have about half of those. 2 of them I can't get, which are missed period and breast changes. But the ones I do recognise myself in are food cravings, constipation (but this happens rather frequently for me anyway), abdominal cramps, bloating, lightheadedness, and some more fatigue than usual. Okay I'm getting really fucking angsty and nauseous from reading that website. Ugh.

But this is making me seriously worried... Even though I know it's unlikely cause of the testo, it could still be possible. Testosterone is not a birth control. I should probably at least just fucking try to remember buying some pregnancy tests from the pharmacy just to still my worries about it if not else. While also trying to be mentally prepared for the worst. And for the panic that would likely ensure if those tests would somehow show positive.

I can feel it twisting and turning in my stomach just thinking about the possibility of something like a tiny baby growing in me... and ugh just writing that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. And Anna asks me: "What would you do with it if you're pregnant?" and all I could say was: "Please don't ask me that." So apparently I'm still battling with that. Perhaps I am not entirely sure if I might want a kid or not, and the thought of maybe having to choose... kinda terrifies me.

If I'd want a kid though, I likely wouldn't mind carrying it myself or even giving birth. I wouldn't be dysphoric about it, and it could be a rather beautiful experience. Yeah birthing would be painful, duh, but also so what. But right now I'm kinda panicking about it cause I'm so fucking unprepared and the timing couldn't possibly be worse, and because I don't know if I'd wanna keep it or not. Also I wouldn't be able to do it in a very healthy way, and so I'd worry about the kid being born wrong. Like with birth defects and what not. Like no way I could stay away from cigarettes for 9 freaking months, or from coffee for that matter. And I likely wouldn't be able to eat more healthy or quit my medication that could very likely be harmful for a kid. And also, I've just quit testosterone. Even if I'm pregnant now it likely wouldn't survive the very high levels of that hormone that are still in my system, and my estrogen levels are also likely very low. If that's so, I'll likely get a miscarriage soon if I haven't already. That could also explain the random pains from my reproductive system that I've been getting lately... They're pretty intense pains. Like knife-sharp kinda intense. However if I'd get a miscarriage that would solve my problem of not wanting to make a decision. If my body would simply choose for me.

Yeah yeah I fucking get it. I should be more careful with my sexual escapades. Unless I really do want to plop out the kid of a total stranger who was a really annoying and kinda creepy guy. Well, depends on his medical history, I guess. But also, no I don't think that's the actually important thing to worry about in terms of that. I think the most important factor with that is: I would not be able to raise a kid alone. I can't even raise myself alone! Or a house plant! And also if I got a kid now (or 8 months from now), I'd be even more stuck on this island and even more dependent on my parents' support. And they really don't want grandkids. So just no. But ugh this scares me. I don't want to have to make that decision. Of standing there with a pregnancy with the only two options being: abortion or carrying it to term. But I also have to find out if that's what I'm stuck with, before it gets too late to even get it legally aborted or I'd be standing there with just one option. I think "too late" would be week 18. But for my own personal opinions on abortion, I'd morally and emotionally probably not be able to do it after week 10-ish. So I still have time, but not forever.

I don't know if I want a kid. Maybe I do. Despite everything I've said so far about me vehemently not wanting one. But it scares the living crap out of me regardless. Because now is simply not a good time, and I don't think I'd be a good mother, but also I'm probably not very fertile at all, plus ageing... if I am pregnant now, despite how unlikely it is... it might be the only chance I could get. So wasting that chance... I might not wanna do, despite this being a very bad timing for it. And I'm also scared I'd regret aborting it. That it would haunt me and I'd not be able to let go of that child that could have been. Then I don't know if I'd rather live with that, or let that child exist even if I'd end up not being able to take care of it properly, or if it could end up with birth defects. But then morally I think that would be very cruel to do to the kid. If it was someone else I'd call them selfish and irresponsible. But I would, for whatever it's worth, at least try to get healthier for a pregnancy then.

I do feel somewhat of a very latent yearning for kids, deep within my mind. But I don't know if that is just my biological inclination for simply being female and an adult so my brain telling me to reproduce; and not a true wish from my own heart, if raising a kid is something I actually want. I think I still, for the most part, don't want to allow myself a kid, because I'm scared I'd hurt it. Either during the pregnancy itself, or by neglect, or by being actually abusive. My temper is an issue, my lack of patience also. Like if the kid would scream a lot, I think I'd eventually just ignore it and drown out the noise with music in headphones. And letting it go around in dirty clothes cause I can't bring myself to do laundry. And feeding it with the same dirty bottle cause I can't bring myself to clean it. And scream and curse at the kid when it frustrates me or won't listen. That I might start treating it like an inanimate object that annoys me and forget that it's human. And forget about it for hours at a time cause I was listening to music or playing WoW and just in my own world. And it would also likely be so mentally demanding of me that I'd just either get a mental breakdown instantly or need to hand it over to someone else more often than not. Not exactly parenting 101.

And then that little practical issue about that I'd simply be physically unable to breastfeed, which would further reduce my chances of bonding with the kid. Also, notice how I keep referring to what could be my child as an "it" instead of "they" or "he/she"? I'm de-humanising it. So I might want a kid but would I really be able to care for, or emotionally connect to it, or even see it as a human being? I'm getting a headache just thinking about it...

I know I shouldn't worry about this now before even having found out if I'm knocked up or not. But I can't help that my head is spinning around it, and I think I just need to vent these thoughts. I've probably forgotten about it again soon. I'm not terribly upset about it. I'm mostly just... I dunno, slightly upset but more just confused, I think. I don't really know what I'm feeling. Some amount of fear, but it's not really all that intense. A longing and wanting that I don't want to admit to having. I know it's unlikely, but I think what actually spawns most of this fear is that some part of me... wants for me to be pregnant. And the other parts of me are attacking that hint of a wanting as though it is a virus. I don't want to want it. I don't want to accept wanting it. And this might also be why I've been having unprotected sex so carelessly, because on some level I do want a child to come out of it. Well, fuck.

So, this ranting and this fear has more to do with my sudden knowing of that on some level it seems I do want a kid, but I don't know how genuine that wish is or if it would be wise to let it ever have its way. But then of course I'm also kinda panicking about if I'm really pregnant already or not, as well as not quite understanding how I could literally forget about it. But if I am, just if and it's the biggest IF you can imagine... oh hell will be raised within me. Cause I'd then really struggle to make a decision whether to keep it or get rid of it. But let's take that fight then, if that's the case. There's really no use for me to worry about that right now. So, see this rant more as me venting my suddenly shifting point of view about parenthood in general. But that shift was caused by me thinking "What if I'm pregnant right now?" however. And I do still worry if I am. I'll try to get those damn pregnancy tests bought tomorrow. And if I could just stop squeezing my stomach to then panic about what could be growing in it, and repeat that every 5th minute, that would be awesome!

My bisexuality, and sexual mindfulness

I wrote the majority of this text yesterday, and intended to post it before i went to bed, but the power went out so I was unable to. The power was out from 9pm to 12am (midnight) by which time I had already gone to bed cause I had gotten bored with solving cross-word puzzles in candle light. However, the power must have gone out on the entire island, cause even the street lights went out. That made the night very, very dark. I went out for cigarettes 3 times during that intense darkness, with just my cell phone as a light source. And looked up at the sky... the most amazing black sky riddled with beautiful stars! And I saw two falling stars! I tried to take a picture of it, but the stars didn't show up on the camera at all. But damn it was pretty.

Anyhow, let's move on to the actual entry. But first a warning: this contains sexual content, especially in the last third, and may cause (un)wanted arousal. The topics are: first 2/3 is about my bisexuality and last 1/3 is about my sexual healing with masturbation.

Alright, yesterday I applied to join a few bisexual groups on facebook. One's a humour group about "bi culture", one's a support group that allows all LGBT people to join and is very trans-inclusive (but the vast majority seems to be bi cis), and one's a group only for bi and lesbian women over 18 but I'm unsure of its exact purpose. I've now been accepted into the first two of those three groups, but no notification yet from the last one. Okay I looked it up again and it appears my request to join must have been denied? Cause it doesn't say "request pending" anymore, it just says "join group". It doesn't say in the description or the rules that it only only allows Americans to join, but considering they asked where I'm from in the "questions to join" and I said Sweden, the only reason I can think of is that I was denied for my location. Or that they might have been suspicious of either my gender, age, sexuality, or my reasons for wanting to join. Or denied me because of personal info about me on my profile, such as my political- and/or religious stance. It's iffy, but yeah whatever.

I dreamed about my bisexuality this night. I don't remember the details of the dream but I remember the feelings from it. That I was ashamed, scared, worried, embarrassed, confused, and felt judged. Since joining and looking into the bisexual support fb group, I did notice there are quite many there who struggle with denial and accepting their sexuality. Someone even made a post about having been in denial about it for most of his life cause of childhood trauma and dissociation, and that it took a lot of extensive therapy for him to finally come to terms with it and accept it. And there was an entire thread where several bi women expressed insecurity and shame for not having been with women yet despite being "old". The majority of them are at my age, around 30. Some even younger.

I want to write a story, fiction, that includes female bisexuality somehow. Maybe also detransition. Possibly wanna include a trans woman somewhere as well. If it's gonna centre around someone detransing, I think it would make sense that person has a lot of trans friends and/or connections to the trans community. However if they're a detransing woman, would be more likely that character has trans men friends rather than trans women friends, but could of course have both. Maybe I'd also wanna include DID stuff. Yes, and trauma. But I've no ideas for an actual plot.

In movies etc about DID I do recognise myself in what it's like having an alter, in living with the long term effects of trauma, in having a very "split" or fragmented sense of self, in not recognising yourself even when you look into a mirror, etc. Severe dissociation can do that by the way, and I've always felt like I'm looking at a stranger in the mirror, regardless of which gender it shows me as. It's not about the gender. Like obviously I recognise the face and know it's mine, but I feel a very strong emotional detachment to it, that makes it feel and look "unreal" like "I don't actually look like this but I've no idea why or how". And yeah, having transitioned with testo has massively increased that detachment. I always feel like a "who are you? I don't know this face" every time I look in a mirror or look at a picture of myself. I recognise it, but I do not recognise it as mine. It's not a panicky or scared disconnect, it's a calm confusion. It doesn't spark fear, and quite often it actually is a kinda good feeling that I can very easily emotionally reject my own face as my own by just... kinda agree with the dissociation and letting it do its thing. It allows me to not deal with how I actually feel about it.

Actually, when I first thought of writing my story about Malik and Tarsem, the "Suburban night watchers" story, it sprouted from just one sentence. I was out for a cigarette some evening a few weeks before I started writing it, when I suddenly thought to myself: "I wanna write a story about a guy who falls in love with a rapist" and that was my first idea that eventually led to that entire story and those characters.

But back to my bisexuality cause that's what I really wanna write about. I don't think I have at any point previously. Or, at least not in depth. I think about my bisexuality and inevitably it leads me to all of my intimate/flirting experiences with woman. There has been a few, but none of them led very far. They all feel to me like "failed attempts" at connecting and getting something good out of it. I don't think I had high demands on any of the women I tried to connect with, but I wanted sex and often got the hint or even the promise, that it was gonna happen, but then it never did and so... yeah, that disappointed me. But even more so, their deceptiveness and playing with my feelings bothers me more. That, I think, has probably a lot to do with my reluctance and discomfort with pursuing dating women. Cause I have tried, and it not go well.

My first kinda gay experience was when I was 17 and the guy classmate I was having my first few straight sexual experiences with at the time, who knew I was bi, asked me one day if I would be interested in a threesome with him and a female friend of his. She was 16, kinda cute and kinda hot but not like extremely so. Blonde, a bit overweight but not really fat. She had beautiful curves, but I don't remember what her face looked like anymore. I didn't feel much for her at first, but when her clothes came off I was definitely attracted. I've forgotten her name. He had invited her over when I stayed at his place one day. It didn't become much of a threesome, cause I was barely even included. I was still uncertain of giving up my virginity to him and still at that point I said "no" to him penetrating me, which he accepted despondently and went ahead to fuck her instead while I watched them. She let me kiss her and touch her breasts, and I kissed him a bit too, but ultimately it was them having sex and I was just there.

But I really did enjoy kissing her and touching her boobs. I think I kissed her nipples too. Like they were just soooo soft and incredibly sexy, I was in total awe. It was the first time I had ever felt another girl's breasts. They were large, maybe DD- or even E-cups. But she was uninterested and it eventually started to feel like she just let me do that to "give a show" for him, so when I started noticing her disinterest, it put me off. She didn't touch me at all and she barely responded to my kisses. At first I didn't know if she was just shy and nervous, but then I figured out that she wasn't there for me at all... and I felt, yeah, really fucking rejected and unwanted. Like I had expected that she agreeing to a threesome meant she wanted at least some intimacy with me, but that was clearly not her intentions. I don't think I was acting rapey at all, I mean come on I was 17 and truly thought she wanted my touch, and as soon as I noticed she wasn't into it, I stopped. I don't know if she was even into women at all, but I got the impression that she was not. But of course it's possible that she was just not into me. Either way, that "threesome" was a total flop.

Then in my early 20's, meaning the entire span of ages 20-23-ish, I did end up making out with a few women at parties, but they too, were never actually interested. Like it was just them being drunk straight women who thought it was exciting to kiss other women at parties and touch each others' tits, but they could never do pussy. I was out as a trans guy at that point, but I didn't exactly pass (my voice always revealed I was female) and I always told everyone that I had a female body, simply because I wanted sex. So they did reject me because they were not into women, even though I was living as a guy.

Then I met her, the woman who ended up in a relationship with one of my crushes at the time whom I had a vaguely sexual relationship with at parties. We three agreed that we were all allowed to kiss each other and make out, but nothing directly sexual. But then one day I ended up going on an Åland cruise with them and another mutual friends of ours. And when we got back to Uppsala after that cruise, I ended up agreeing with the couple to have a threesome with them. Apparently I had not learned from my previous threesome flop mistakes, and this second one became much the same. Before we went to bed she said that she thought I had already fully transitioned, to which I didn't really know what to say cause I had never said anything such and thought she knew, and it caught me off guard but I said something like "no... I'm barely even on testosterone..." either way, I was honest with her. She was disappointed by that but still seemed to want me in bed with her and her boyfriend. I tried to shake it off, but from then on I knew I could just throw all of my expectations and wishes in the trash.

And well. They had sex with each other while I lied next to them, but they were both keen on not showing their private parts to me. I displayed myself fully. Of course I respected their choice but it felt very unequal and like we should have discussed the "rules" first. I kissed him and touched his chest a bit, and I kissed her too. But that was it. I asked them if I was allowed to do any actual touching and they said very hesitantly "no" while really beating around the bush about it but I wasn't stupid so I took the hint with the sugar-coating and kept my hands to myself. She had told me at some point much earlier that she was bi too. But that was the biggest god damn lie ever. An actually bi woman would not be disappointed to know someone she's clearly attracted to has a female body, and show such clear disinterest in any sort of female on female intimacy. I knew it wasn't just her not being specifically into me all of a sudden, she lost interest because of me having female parts. So I'm promptly revoking her "bi card". At least her boyfriend was openly honest about being straight and confused about his attraction to me as a trans guy at the time. And for that, I respect him much more. But oh well. So that "threesome" was another total flop.

And sometime after that I started feeling an internal anger towards women who literally fooled me to think they were into me when they were actually straight women who didn't wanna go near my pussy or have their pussies anywhere near me. I felt duped and used. Like they just "used" my bisexuality to get some "gay experience" like it was just some sort of game for them. And I categorise these kind of women as a term I've only rarely heard used by others: "bistraightuals." Meaning straight people pretending to be bisexual. They're usually women wanting male attention by kissing girls but sometimes I think it's really just them thinking it's harmless party fun. How they're different from "bicurious" women is that these particular women KNOW they're not into women, but give a very deceptive perception of that they are.

Bistraightual men seem to be far more rare, but I've met a few of them too. They're the ones who've pretended to be into men out of courtesy when they've been attracted to me (as a trans guy), to then later on come clean and admit they're actually only into women. I've been upset by the male bistraightuals as well, but not so much cause ultimately they were attracted to me and lied with good intentions, but the female bistraightuals have really upset me with their god damn lies and games. Maybe I'm a total party pooper, but that's just assholery, really. If straight women wanna do that with each other cause it may be a quick way to get dick, I've got no problem with it, but for fuck's sake don't play games with actually bi and lesbian women's feelings.

It's almost bordering to being homophobic, or at least very insensitive to people with a same sex attraction. It almost implies that these sort of people view homo- and bisexuality as a "lifestyle" or a fashion statement. But really, just don't tell and show people that you're "very sexually interested" in them, to then ten minutes later slither away with a "oh I'm not even into your bio sex at all, it was just for fun, no hard feelings" cause I swear to Satan... that's the kinda thing that makes it harder for me to trust people, and it's what makes me lose hope in humanity.

And so I think my such experiences have made me kinda wary of women's intentions when they show sexual interest in me. I always take a step back, look them up and down to try to see if they're actually honest, and ask: are you REALLY into me? And that too makes me insecure about trying to date women. Cause I've literally had several experiences of women outright PRETENDING to be into me, and that just hurts. I really don't wanna end up with more deceptive bistraightuals on my hands. Been there, done that. Had enough of it!

But I also have to, although I know it's not entirely nice, but for the sake of my conflicted feelings, count in Y to my gay experiences. Not denying his male-aligned gender or his wish to be seen as male, but I cannot look beyond his biological reality being the same as mine. At the time I felt bad that I felt our relationship was gay, in a totally politically incorrent way. I felt that it was the gayest relationship I had ever been in thus far, both because our genders were the same (as I saw it and felt back then) and because our bio sex was the same as well. It felt double-gay in a sense that I thought he never would have wanted for me to highlight. I felt like my feelings were being transphobic, plain and simple. But I got a relief from that feeling cause for once I could actually think of a situation I was in as 100% gay and not both straight and gay at the same time.

And I always thought that the sex I had with him was kind of lesbian. I struggled with that feeling in me, and I felt like I could not express it or discuss it with him. I felt like that would have been important. As it had a lot to do with both my internalised lesbophobia and how I viewed both him and myself. And me hiding that feeling from him caused even more tension within me. Like I blamed myself for feeling that way, yet I couldn't change it. I loved him for who he was, both his mind and his body. But I also knew, that I likely would not have been sexually attracted to his body if I had not been into women. That chafed. That I loved his body as I would have loved a woman's body, but I loved his mind as I would have loved a man's mind. I saw both and loved both, but for different reasons. I felt like it would have been very dysphoria-inducing for him if I had told him that, and it felt like my feelings were wrong.

But I think that now, a little less harsh on myself, I can't say that sex with Y wasn't at least female on female sex, even though it was not woman on woman sex. I can't look beyond a female physical reality and truly think of it as male, but I can absolutely love and appreciate a female physical reality and treat it as though it is male. But I also think that the reason why I can do that latter thing, is because I am bisexual and therefore appreciate and have the capacity to love both female and male bodies, while also being able to love both female and male minds, separately and together. Which combination of either mind+body or physical traits, does not matter for my ability to love and be sexually attracted. But what my feelings tell me is that regardless of his body I still saw his mind as male, but also that regardless of his mind I still saw his body as female.

So thus, my feelings viewed my relationship with him as gay, as in between two guys loving each other, but the sex we had as gay, as in between two females. And I still feel the same way about that. However I wasn't truly male-gendered so maybe in restospect the relationship was kinda straight, but then it gets actually complicated and I don't have the energy or wish to get into that can of worms right now, so let's just leave it at that.

But I digress. I meant to only briefly bring up my stance on trans people in regards to my bisexuality, in the meaning that it is my belief that my attraction to both mtf's and ftm's is largely because of my bisexuality. I don't see it as that I'm in any way sexually attracted to neurological gender, I'm only sexually attracted to bodies. But of course I am romantically attracted to people's minds which does include how they perceive their gender. But, the way I see my sexual orientation is that I'm biSEXual, as in I have a sexual attraction to people of both sexes, not both genders. Although it includes both genders. Theoretically it includes anything anyone would want to call a gender, cause it doesn't change how or if I'm attracted to their bodies.

So I'm kinda trying to say that I view sex with anyone with a female equipment as lesbian sex but still view trans men as men and if I'd be in a relationship with one (again) I'd regard that connection as straight, as I'm a woman and he'd be a man. Because I view my sexual orientation as being towards sex and not gender and the way I simply feel about my actual sexual experiences is what's happening with the genitals. If I somehow need to explain why I'm so focused on genitals when it comes to sex: because that's literally what's being used during the act. And because sex is largely a very physical experience for me. Touch and sight are probably the senses I'm the most keen on when I'm fucking. So then if I see a dick, and feel a dick then I'm gonna zoom the fuck in on that male organ and probably forget about the rest of the person. It's not personal. Literally. It's me getting very unpersonal and I'm objectifying cis and trans and male and female people just as extremely much and equally when I'm at it.

But yeah, I just don't intend to be transphobic but if my sexuality somehow is... well, I can't help it. Hot take, but maybe the actual problem here is not how I view men and women in regards to my sexuality, but rather dysphoric people sometimes being so fucking cranky that their expectations on cis people frankly have gotten unreasonable. Like they should then get a fucking grip on themselves and stop letting their dysphoria get out on cis people cause we "don't love you the right way". We're trying. This is really just the best thing I could do about it in regards to trans people, to separate sex and gender but I still have to acknowledge and respect that my own sexuality is towards sex, not gender.

I just wanted to get a better overview on how I see my attraction going to both sexes and why I have to count my experiences with Y as "lesbian" even though I know that's wildly problematic. That I see it that way simply because I differentiate bio sex from gender. My intent is NOT to be hurtful to him or trans men in general, or to trans women cause this applies to them as well, but that I also don't think I should have to apologise for something I simply cannot change about myself when I'm trying to be as kind about it as possible.

But I think that's all I can think of in terms of my bisexuality right now, at least without going all the way down into the dissociation stuff and internalised misogyny and internalised lesbophobia and that mess. I can't really reach it right now, but I think at least what I described about the "bistraightuals" explains quite a lot of my distrust in women for dating.

But now to something completely different and far more positive and uplifting.

I just masturbated and tried something that I've never done before: fingered myself. The experience was more than just amazing, okay it felt like I was orgasming before I was even orgasming. The buildup was super intensely pleasurable and long-lasting. That I could feel my own contractions and the wet softness inside, my body's positive response sucking my fingers into myself yearning for my own touch, that I enjoyed both the touch and the act of touching hightened my pleasure in a circular, ever ramping up pattern of pleasure causing pleasure until I exploded in an amazing, wild orgasm that had me moaning and gasping and spasming uncontrollably.

And it taught me that no matter how awful I once felt about my pussy, no matter how intensely I've once hated it, no matter how thoroughly disgusted and upset I've been by its existence... I now love it unconditionally and I love loving it and giving it the most intensely loving experiences I possibly can. This is not just masturbation; it is ultimately, making love to myself. This is relishing in the inexplicably intense satisfaction and relief of a nearly lifelong wound that has now completely healed and shows no signs of even the slightest scarring. I'm at the brink of tears for how absolutely beautiful this feeling is. It feels more beautiful than any love that any other person could possibly give me. I can with complete honesty and love in my heart say that my pussy is beautiful, it is sexy and a truly amazing part of my body that I am more than just grateful for having been blessed with. I adore it. I do not think that people who've never hated their pussies could ever experience this kind of love for their pussies. And I also think that this is not just a normal experience of being cis.

It catches me thinking, in the pause of a breath, that this love... is literally because of my trauma, the pain of my past dysphoria, my mistake of transitioning and the agony of regretting it. Without all that pain, I would never have come to find and experience this love from my own caress. It tears at me, as though it's pulling me in two opposing directions. I still struggle to forgive myself for the pain I've put myself through due to denial and not listening to myself, but I can appreciate, at least partially, that pleasure that grows from pain is really exquisite and extra sweet. Give me time to forgive me for my pain, and I'm sure I'll come to appreciate it too.

But in this sense, I really do believe that I've healed a huge wound that was connected to my trauma, by jerking off. But it wasn't the masturbation itself, it was how I went about it. It was my mindset, my goals, my methods, my patience. It was that through masturbation that I learned to truly listen to my body and not reject its signals. That journey started when I began exploring anal about a year and a half ago, because I for the first time started paying utmost attention to every slightest sensation I got from my exploration, and the result I got was not just very nice orgasms, but a new, very fulfilling pleasure that was much more psychological than physical. With that, I noticed a connection between my mind and the sexual parts of my body that I wasn't really aware of before.

It might sound silly, but for several months I used buttplugs as a comfort blanket. Because me using them somehow tapped into a psychological nerve or something, it let me reach a state of relaxation and comfort that was not even sexual but much more like meditation. It soothed me to my core. But I became addicted to it and eventually I wore a plug in nearly 24/7 and only took a couple of hours break from it per week. Eventually it made my ass too sore and I had to take a longer break of several weeks. The way my mind reacted to stopping the use of plugs was intensely negative. It felt like my mind was craving a drug. My ass got better eventually, but I could never reach that feeling of inner peace from anything anal again, and I do mourn the loss of that feeling. But it did show me a possibility I never thought could exist: perfect alignment between my body and mind. It literally, temporarily removed my dissociative fog.

And it hits me now that's what I've been trying to achieve. To disperse the constant mist of dissociation and truly connect to myself. It also hits me, that it might actually quite possibly have been this meditative sexual exploration, starting already over a year ago, that was my very first hint of a step towards my detransition. In the sense that it let me start dispersing my dissociative mist, wich might likely have revealed previously hidden feelings that I have about my body and gender. Feelings that I had dissociated away from, that I then, kinda accidentally, brought up to the surface.

Then about a year after my anal adventures, I approached the same principle with my vag. But much more and more in depth. Pun not intended... Cause not only did I listen to my body's signals about the physical sensations, I also listened to my subconscious mind's signals of what it wanted in regards to my plans on srs and whether to keep the vag or not. That was my goal, to masturbate myself to a decision, but I had a very meditative, self-reflective and therapeutic perspective to my prodding. And that I had my mind fully in on it, as in a total awareness sort of thing, while exploring myself physically, it became a full-body, full-mind and both combined experience that, to my belief, completely healed my emotional wound.

Perhaps I do keep "medicating" it by keeping up with these experiences of sexual mindfulness. But I mean I really don't mind doing that! And I'd love to keep at it with the hands on self love for the rest of my life. For as long as I can physically do it, I will. Even as an old lady I'll still grab my own pussy as much and often as I want to.

I could never before willingly stick my fingers in there, let alone keep them in there. Cause it just grossed me out so bad, and it made my dysphoric feelings completely hit the roof. To even go anywhere near that hole with my hands made me feel really anxious and distressed. I couldn't even stand accidentally getting the wetness on my clit. And pre-transition I didn't even know that fingering myself was something that I could do. It hadn't struck my mind, and no one talked about it or did it on me back then. But I think I wouldn't have wanted to even if I had known about that being possible to do. I did, all the way up to until this year, feel like my genitals were "unclean" even when they were newly washed. It was a mental feeling of being tainted for simply having a pussy. I kinda thought of that area on my body as some kind of nasty swamp that just couldn't even get clean. When masturbating before, I did avoid direct contact with my hands/fingers there as much as possible. Like by using a vibe and/or dildo and not putting my hands directly on things there.

So, for me to now, for the first time ever, just reach in and feel around... and so fully enjoying it with no negative feelings of grossness at all... that was huge. And yep, of course I'll do it again!