Transgender diary: suffering for beauty—my first sessions with electrolysis

Trigger warning: this post complains blasé treatment of the male and female sexual anatomy.

Gosh, do I ever love my breasts.  The Steve Martin line from a movie where he said if he had breasts he would stay at home all day and play with them remains apocryphal.  But, boy, do they give me pleasure.  If I do touch them, it brings and electrifying jolt to me that is pure sensual.  They are ever so sensitive.  They are growing nerve endings.  It makes me wonder if other parts of me are too.

The irony of loving my breasts is not at all lost on me.  This was my greatest transition fear.  You can’t hide breasts.  An absent penis will not really be noticed.  But now that I don’t give a damn who knows that I am trans, the breast-hiding has stopped.  If anything, they are a badge of honour…it makes me feel legitimate.  That was the word that one of my children used when caught staring at my new dugs.

It feels good to be legitimate.

Every morning when I get up, I feel them, I look at them, and admire their itty-bitty-little-titty club proportions.  The woman who was waxing me first asked me how I was doing and what was going on in my life.  Before I had finished answering she was squeezing and touching both breasts.  Her facial shrug suggested she was non-plussed. 

“Not much going on here,” she said, her own very large breasts sucking the air out of the room.  

“Well, it does take 2-3 years for them to grow,” I said.  

“Is you doctor happy?” she asked, as a way to say that they couldn’t possibly be.  “You say its normal?” she said, meaning their small size. 

“Yes,” I replied.  She let go of them with a dismissive shrug.

For some years now, and intermittently over the years before that, I wax my body as clear and clean as a cue ball.  The woman who waxes me now is a mixture of blasé and opinionated that has resulted in some interesting conversations.  “You have to love men, all trans women love men,” was one she had until she confessed her own lesbianism.  She and her assistant are keen to give me makeup lessons.  When they were telling me I was thinking how many men go to see Dominatrixes for “femininization”.  That isn’t something that I was ever interested in pursuing because I have never associated with femininity, or performative femininity with either shame or arousal.  It is more a state of being, of being one with myself.  Ditto for cross-dressing.

My version of unbearably hairy is not really visible to the naked eye from more than a metre away.  Still, I’ve left it quite a while as electrolysis looms.  One of the preparations required in anticipation of neo-vagina creating surgery is a thorough round of electrolysis.  And by thorough, I mean six months at least of weekly hair removal.  It has to be flawless, as some of the skin will become the labia, or in some cases, internal folds.  Some surgeons say they will take care of it with a form of scraping during the operation, but this doesn’t always work 100% and plus you want your surgery to be as simple and straightforward as possible, not have these added things to take care of.  The faster the surgery is over, the shorter the recovery time.

As she took a look at my naked body before going at it with the hot wax, she commented that my legs were getting fat.  Both she and her assistant gave my thighs exploratory squeezes.  “You’ll have to watch out for this,” she said, “you’re getting fat in the legs.”

“Yes,” the assistant agreed giving a squeeze.  “Watch out.”

“You see it is not all glory being a woman,” she said.

Being ready for electrolysis has meant letting my hair grow.  Yuck.  Thankfully, only one day’s beard on my face.  I am not a great candidate for the various “easier” methods of permanent or semi-permanent hair removal, as my hair is very fair, particularly the hair on my body, made more so by years of waxing.  Which will likely mean that she will be zapping them one by one as she crouches between my legs, eyes trained on one pesky follicle after the next.  I showed up armed with a map of peri-anal and genital area with clear instructions from the surgeon on what has to go and what could stay.

“I might as well just take it all off,” she said after scratching her head for a while.  The “little” in me readily agreed and was the first of my many selves to speak up, so that is what we did and what we will do. I mean, ‘I never thought you’d ask,’ was half of what was running through my head, the other half was, ‘good, I’ll look innocent down there for the rest of my life.’

I was bemused by her total nonchalance as she placed a hand on my floppy, flaccid whotsit, but in the manner of all Italians, was soon gesticulating, removing her hand and plopping it back down again, over and over.  Were I anything other than chemically castrated, I would have been as hard as a rock in a few seconds.   Instead, we were both amused by my non-reaction.  She took it as confirmation of my seriousness.

Zapping my beard and moustache area on my face was quite painful.  Eye-watering.  You must suffer for beauty.  I sure do look forward to never having to shave again!  It was also quite painful on my nether regions.  I am being electro-shocked back to a pre-pubescent state.  

Meanwhile, as my wife says, I cannot be relied on to make important decisions because I have the brain of a teen girl going through puberty. Second puberty.  How much of that is real and how much is “brain fog” induced by the combination of spironolactone and finasteride is anyone’s guess.  But I am certainly not as with it in the same way I was as a male-brained person.  My new brain, however, is capable of things it didn’t used to be.  And certain aspects of my ADD are most definitely worse.

But I’m also more chill.  I am also way more sensitive—not in the way it sounds, but in terms of picking up on things…I feel everything more intensely—not necessarily internally, but more that I can pick up on external stimuli much more easily.

Well, my breasts may be small, but if I am not wearing a silk or satin shirt (which on their own mean a constant state of nipple erection from the gentle caress of those fabrics), then I need to wear a bra.  I’m getting used to have something bind me there.

With all these yummy things happening, why wouldn’t I want to be trans?

9 thoughts

  1. I love my breasts, specifically my nipples. Purely by accident at times, my nipples will come into contact with something that just feels absolutely delicious…a certain fabric, the cool granite counter top, or the steamy water in a hot tub….and I am in heaven. I actually have a hard time climaxing without nipple stimulation. Congratulations on developing boobies, my beautiful friend!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh, how sweet to hear your voice! I’ve been thinking about you loads. I hope you are well. I love my boobies! The strangest things happen to me because of. them. Do women always like to look at each other’s breasts? My bestie is staying with me and she insisted I show her and then was so flattering about them. It must seem strange to see teenaged breasts growing on a middle-aged body, but they still more or less stick straight out. I am told that it takes 2-3 years for them to develop fully, so it feels as if my wish will come true in terms of shape and size. I wanted B cup breasts, and I am just flirting with moving from A to B now, and although I love my training bras, this opens up a whole new world of lingerie for me. Gosh. The fun.

      I hope that you and Daddy are good, that his health and spirits are strong, and that you continue to receive the regular spankings which you love and deserve. As for me, my submission is taking on the most curious forms. I have been invited by a group of Dommes to learn the arts of the Domme, am working towards hosting shibari workshops in a play space and retreat centre I am setting up, and am gradually settling into life and figuring out what next. Pity about the wife, but as my bestie says, good thing you know what she’s really like before you have to grow old with her.

      Off to Venice today, so looking forward to it. One of my favourite cities in the world. Stay lovely most beautiful person.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Hello, beautiful! I think of you often and the journey you are on. I think I’ve shared that I am a college professor and therapist, and I have supported two people through their transition. I currently have a student who opened up to me about transitioning and I was blown away. She is very beautiful and natural as a woman…much like you are, I imagine! And yes…women very much like to look at the breasts of other women. I have seen and touched (and playfully kissed one time at a party) the beautiful breasts of my best friend, and women notoriously show their breasts to other women in club bathrooms (or at least, this has been my experience). I am also grateful for your kind words about my husband. It’s been a painful journey for us, but we are looking at getting him a transplant in the near future. That will be a scary time for us, but hopefully it will allow him to live a full life. And…while it is a pity about your ex-wife, you are so much better off without her, my friend. I know it must be painful, but she did not deserve you. Please don’t ever forget what a beautiful soul you have! Hugs & kisses. XOXO

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      2. Hi…you had alluded to some of this…that you were a therapist, but the rest is new. That is scary what you describe with your partner, and I will be with you in spirit every step of the way. There are few things scarier than someone we love being beyond our ability to help and heal.

        I love my breasts, which is ironic considering that breast growth was the main thing holding me back from transitioning–Going from penis to vagina can be easily hidden, but not breasts. That moment has arrived. I am travelling at the moment with a friend and she looked at my chest yesterday and said, “you need to be wearing a bra young lady.” It’s just that we are travelling in a country where it is illegal to be transgender, so I am stealth girl. Everything I am wearing was purchased in women’s sizes and in women’s shops, but is a simulacrum of male clothes…confusingly androgynous. Going boy mode in women’s attire is a new kind of fun.

        That is wonderful that you have supported trans people in your practise. You will know it well then. Probably better than me. With every day that passes, though, I think, why didn’t I do this sooner? The idea of having shame in buying women’s clothes or getting my nails done, which might be a kinky pleasure for some, just seems so distant, to the point that it never existed. I sit at the nail bar and chat with the other customers and the attendants and there is nothing about being “other”…and why should there be. So much of our lived experience depends on our attitude. How we see ourselves is how the world comes to see us.

        Have a wonderful day.

        Liked by 2 people

      3. I know. I am so not a domme! I am more and more a slave every day. It is so weird to have both happening simultaneously. Being out a as a trans person is one thing, but being out as a slave has made some of my friend interactions better too, as we understand each other.

        This deep-seated desire to please people sits very high in my hierarchy of needs…more than doing what I want to do. And yes, I am super-decisive, so I will choose the movie, will decide what we’re going to eat, will make decisions left and right, creating an illusion of dominance, because I can’t stand indecision or waffling…but when someone who is dominant comes along, the opportunity to just obey is so powerfully hypnotic, that I almost instantly find myself in space.

        I alluded to this in a post, but I met a pro-Domme recently who was looking for someone to help her out with some things and my interview turned very quickly into a “personal” slave discussion, in other words, she was telling me, ‘you’re not my client, if I take you on, you will be my slave.” It was kind of far out.

        I don’t know whether it will go anywhere, as she lives in your neck of the woods, and well, I live over here. But strange things do happen to me.

        My introduction to shibari is coming in service to a rigger, possibly several, and I like to think of myself as a dojo slave…”learning the ropes” will mean taking care of her needs. But I am coming to the realisation that I might end up learning to tie people up. I have wondered what might be my version of female sexuality, and how I might engage with women as a sexual being. What I have felt in shibari is something I can also give, though it will be interesting as “rope bunny” is by far my dominant trait, and rigger is not, but we shall see. That is what I will be learning first, and maybe I can get my head around beating men with whips. I think I can do it with their best interests at heart.

        Liked by 2 people

  2. I really appreciate this post for its honesty and vulnerability in discussing the topic of gender transition. It’s so important to normalize the idea that gender is not one-size-fits-all and that it’s ok to have pride in the body you have. My question is, what has been your experience in finding community and support with fellow trans people?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Kathy. Thank you so much for your comment, and apologies for taking so long to reply. For some reason it got placed in the spam folder instead of in the pending comments section.

      To be honest, I have not spent super much time focussed on the trans community. I have joined a transgender community group that meets in person weekly, but in the 18 months since joining, have only made it for 3-4 meetings. This is driven more by geography than anything else, as I have found I like them. That said, the first time or two that I went I had this feeling that we had little in common with each other…until someone started talking about the trans experience, and then it was like “oh my gosh, my sister!” It was kind of overwhelming. We experience things that I believe other people don’t “get” to experience–in discussion these are mostly negative experiences, but there are a great many positive ones, and I am determined to give these the upper hand, at least in my own life.

      What this group and another that is organised through my endocrinologist serve to do is answer technical questions that arise, from what is going on with my body to pretty much anything about the process: surgery and its consequences, mental health, hormones, voice and speech therapy, clothes, violence, makeup, friendships, coming out, you name it. What it doesn’t do is have any relevance to my professional life or to my social life. For these, I am finding that open-minded women have been my salvation.

      While I have some wonderful male friends who have been close to me for decades, I am able to have a level of emotional and physical intimacy with female friends without anything getting or being weird. And they have gone into an emotional depth with me that is not possible with other people. This includes traditional friends as well as sex workers and therapists. All of whom refer to themselves in relation to me as a “friend” with the one exception of my main therapist who offered me the choice: “you can be my friend or I can be your therapist. We can’t have it both ways.” I respected that and chose therapist…but for the others, the distinction hasn’t mattered, and my life is better for it.

      On a practical level this means that another therapist of mine who has become a friend and who really understands what I am going through and also looking for, is sending me stuff, introducing me to things outside of our therapy sessions. As you would with a friend.

      I have never been drawn to the LGBTQ scene, and if anything, may have even avoided gay culture. I know it is wrong of me to feel this way, but gay men are hard for me to be around. That is a dangerous generalisation, but in the experiences I have had with them, I have experienced predatory sexual behaviour directed at me since I was young–and continue to do. I find that many of them have a hyper-masculine energy that freaks me out, I don’t like the vulgarity of the sexual humour that many of them use, and I worry about how they regard me now. I find it much more reassuring to be around straight men, especially ones who I know are not going to come on to me or fetishise me. One of my closest friends thinks that gay men will stop “seeing” me as an object of desire as I become increasingly female appearing–but that has not been the case so far. It is kind of amusing in a way, as some of my female friends are over the moon with gay men, and have always been, as it was safe to be with them.

      Being safe to be with is part of me too…in a way, a core element of my sexuality. And that drives all kinds of different outcomes.

      I have no knowledge of lesbian culture, and I suppose that I should learn, but I don’t know if I need to. I know that I need to learn to be with a woman in a sexual way that is different than what I have done for my previous life…that my “equipment” is now just there for peeing…

      Phew, that was a long-winded reply, and I don’t even know if I answered the question. Thanks for asking though.

      Liked by 1 person

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