…sometimes almost magic…

I’m tired of other people’s opinions having such a huge effect on the way we live our lives. I’d like to say I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, but that’s just unrealistic, ’cause who wants to live in a cave by themselves. If you have to interact with people, the way they see and judge you affects the way they treat you. I do think I’ve cultivated a bit of blindness to that, which has shielded me a bit. But still, sometimes it just sucks to be the black sheep.

Probably about 5 years ago, I babysat for some of my cousin’s in-laws (almost family, though it doesn’t sound like it – we’re included in all their family gatherings, and vice versa). I still had brown hair and still considered myself straight and Christian. I wore a denim skirt, an art nouveau style top, and a small, smooth, white collar with decorative metal rivets. I wasn’t wearing it as a kink thing, it was jewelry. Because it was the kind of pretty that I like, pretty that isn’t weak, that has a slight edge to it. And it looked nice with my outfit.

The mother of the children I watched noticed it and later, she laughingly told the rest of the family that I’d been wearing a dog collar. Apparently the grandmother found it very upsetting, and claimed that she didn’t want me babysitting her grandchildren anymore, didn’t want me alone with them.

She’s known me since I was 12.

These days, I don’t even want to know what they’re saying about me. If they got that worked up about a piece of jewelry, they must have a hard time not herding the kids out of the room whenever I come in, now that I have unnaturally colored hair and a girlfriend. Who doesn’t come to family gatherings anymore by the way, since my cousin asked us to refrain from being affectionate in front of the kids. Since my cousin’s husband got upset at Christmas when Kitten sat on my lap.

But anyhoo. I wasn’t writing this to bitch about their intolerance. More to say that I feel like such an outsider sometimes, that even though I’ve chosen it, it does get tiring. Even with my closest friends, I’m the “freak.”

I don’t intend to complain about that. I deliberately choose to be “different,” to not hide who I am, to do things and be the way I want to be. I don’t want to be normal, I don’t want to be invisible anymore, I want to be what I want to be and fuck the rest of the world. Except… the rest of the world fucks me back sometimes.

Sometimes I’m so tired of gender. Tired of thinking about it, talking about it, tired of being frustrated by the larger world’s binary view of it. Tired of worrying about it. I’m really not interested in caring about how anyone thinks I should be because of my bits or what they think of me when I don’t buy into their crap notions of the way things are.

I’m also tired of dancing around the fact that my girlfriend’s birth certificate says Male. Tired of walking on eggshells around her because I never know if she’s going to be ok with a reference to her biology and previous incarnation or if it’s going to upset her. Tired of worrying about other people knowing and finding out and the possbility of violence, medical mistreatment, prejudice.

I just want us to be able to be who we are and rejoice in it.

I want to just reject the notion of gender once and for all, but the world won’t let me. I have to think about it – we can’t go out of the house naked, after all.

I feel rather cheated that I don’t get turned on by bdsm. (I feel rather cheated quite a lot, because I’m just that kind of whiner.) I find kink intensely fascinating, and I’ve been drawn to it ever since I was a small child. I can remember being in grade school, and feeling that suffering was poignantly romantic. Quite a lot of time was spent putting my dolls in painful situations for the sake of love. Not to mention those unspeakable bedtime fantasies that introduced me to physical arousal at such a young age.

I’m not sure how it’s supposed to play out in real life though (yeah yeah, I know, “supposed to” is a dirty phrase). Everyone else seems to find bdsm literally arousing (even if it’s only after the fact), but for me kink in the flesh is so far from sex, and so far from fantasy – it’s just a pleasant pasttime. Which is alright, really, in the grand scheme of things, but still pretty disappointing given the way everyone talks about it (and the way I’ve fantasized about it). Where’s the excitement? The intensity? The sexiness? The tingle in my trousers? I’ve got more than 20 years of accumulated anticipation here, bring it on already.

Is it just that my sex drive is on hold right now? ‘Cause honestly, I can’t think of the last time I got physically aroused by something that wasn’t in direct contact with my crotch. So maybe it’s not that kink isn’t doing it for me, maybe it’s that nothing is doing it for me. Hmm.

Derek came over yesterday. I tied him up a bit, hurt his bits a bit (pics will be posted tomorrow). It was fun. I think I feel better in a scene if I’m not dressed up at all or trying to play a part (kind of duh, eh?). Cargo shorts and a tank top, and I’ll tie you up in my sunny living room while the cat watches.

I laughed when he was in pain. I set a rule and he broke it. I should have punished him more harshly, that would have been a good time. It seemed like he was suffering a bit much already though, and sometimes I can’t believe that someone in that much pain is enjoying it.. I’ve never pushed him even very close to his limit though, I should keep that in mind….

He wanted to use the strap-on dildo gag, but the idea squicked me out a little. I like a bit of foreplay before someone fucks me, you know, and that just seemed like a weird thing to do with this guy. It’s a damn shame really, because I always wish I was getting some action (bitch about not getting it, more like) – here’s my opportunity and I don’t want to take it. Somebody’s offering me a gift I’ve been pining for, and I turn it down. Wtf, eh?

[all of this has basically been said by other people, and better than I did, but I guess I needed to spew it out anyway. Just to get it on record, or something, that gender baffles and infuriates me.]

Gender is such a weird thing – it’s an expectation that someone will or should be a certain way just because they have a particular configuration of flesh between their legs (never mind intersex people). It’s fucking ridiculous and damaging.

I mean, really, does that crap actually work for anyone? Male = this and female = that… We’re clinging to a ridiculous, non-functional, dualistic way of thinking just because… that’s the way it’s “always” been?

I guess most people fit into their prescribed boxes well enough that they don’t ever have to think about it. Because they don’t feel too uncomfortable, they don’t ever consider that the world could, and should, be different.. but I can’t help but think that even those people would find it easier to be comfortable and happy in themselves if we allowed for some diversity and stopped separating things into genders… Not to mention, of course, the people who aren’t at all comfortable being shoved into a role and set of expectations that doesn’t begin to fit who they are. I’m probably pretty lucky in that sense, luckier than Maymay, at least. The world is much more tolerant of “masculine” women than pretty boys. Especially if that woman is fat and/or sterotypically femininely unattractive to begin with.

Why does the world hate women so much, anyway? It’s always the characteristics that are supposedly female that are reviled. Women are second-class citizens, just because they’re not men. And it’s ok for anyone to want to be mannish, but when a guy embodies some supposed aspect of feminity, it’s so often considered a weakness, something to mock him for. (Bah, I’m almost certain that Helen said something about that in one of her books, and much better than me…)

What the hell is wrong with a guy wanting to be pretty? I wish more guys were like that. It’s certainly more pleasant to touch, and be around, a pretty boy than a supposedly manly one. And I get sweaty and dirty and grunty enough for everyone in the room, ha. Macho, arrogant men piss me off more than any other type of person. What’s not to love about a guy who’s sweet and soft and wants to be cherished? What’s not to love about a person whose body is a sensual pleasure? I dig women, but I don’t want my boy to be one – but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to smell nice, feel nice, and be the antithesis of the caveman I’m supposed to want.