Come out of the mirror, dark girl.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Sex walks behind you
Cast aside all the people seeking to direct and exploit your sexuality. And then admit, sex is really there. It's such a vital feeling within you, so much more vital than most of your other feelings.
It doesn't fit with the rest of you. It is impishly independent, defiant, mischievous. It is powerful. much more powerful than you are generally. It can damage so much. I doubt its menace can be truly contained by a healthy, liberal politics of sexual acceptance. Sex by its nature does not concur with the healthy and liberal.
There is an ethics of sexual activity. You have a responsibility there. But sexual feelings leap free of any net of responsibility in which you try to contain them.
I see sex itself as my seducer. He creeps up on me, grabs me by the waste, consumes me.
My legs thrash in helpless abandonment.
'I am Debbie. I am a slutty submissive nymph.'
I become my appetite. I am hungry. This bitch is on heat. This nymph is on fire.
It doesn't fit with the rest of you. It is impishly independent, defiant, mischievous. It is powerful. much more powerful than you are generally. It can damage so much. I doubt its menace can be truly contained by a healthy, liberal politics of sexual acceptance. Sex by its nature does not concur with the healthy and liberal.
There is an ethics of sexual activity. You have a responsibility there. But sexual feelings leap free of any net of responsibility in which you try to contain them.
I see sex itself as my seducer. He creeps up on me, grabs me by the waste, consumes me.
My legs thrash in helpless abandonment.
'I am Debbie. I am a slutty submissive nymph.'
I become my appetite. I am hungry. This bitch is on heat. This nymph is on fire.
Hail world!
What do I want to do right now? Why am I writing here?
I want to affirm my existence as Deborah. Not as a refutation of self-denial but as a rejection of containment.
More precisely, I want to affirm the vitality of my existence. In fact, the vitality almost takes me over, impels me, captures my consciousness from its boring indecisive rational custodians.
Female and sexual. Vital and alive and connecting. No place I'm going to other than here, but look, see me now, Deborah, here, flying into your consciousness through cyberspace. Wheeee!
Sunday, 23 December 2012
Relax into Deborah
Relax now, petal. Just relax into your softness. Your lovely feminine softness. Feel safe there, feel at home there, and let your true beauty unfurl.
Deborah on autoeroticism
Postmodern philosophers have opened up fundamental regions of ontology. Have they enabled an excting, fundamental liberation, or have they turned the floor beneath us into a bottomless pit?
As a practical concomitant to all this, cyberspace has created vast new territory, bringing new opportunities not just for what you can do but for who you can be.
This is an exciting context for crossdreaming. A positive one if handled well, although an invalidating one ('your inner woman has no essence!') if employed negatively.
Another context is the increasing acceptance of minority sexualities. Homosexuality becomes increasingly acceptable in mainstream culture (in many countries); BDSM culture is developing at a rapid rate.
It's within this context that I have to disagree with the great Jack Molay's strong objection to autogynephilia being regarded (by Blanchard etc.) as autoeroticism. Jack seems to concur with interpretations of autoeroticism as being a perversion, and thus takes offence at crossdreamers being regarded as perverted.
Can you, reader, think about autoeroticism open-mindedly? Maybe it is not so bad. Maybe it is a different take on 'self' and 'other', one that avoids harmful projections? If sexualities are okay as long as they don't involve harming others, surely autoeroticism is the most okay of all?
Such an attitude implies a pessimistic attitude to other-orientated sexuality, often depicted sweetly as 'love'. Yes I know it can be wonderful, but so often it isn't. I think the genuinely happy long-term relationships are the exception rather than the rule. Sexual desire for others is not so unselfish. Much of it is actually about affirming one's self, so there is not such a rigid dictotomy between self-regarding and other-regarding sexualities.
Introversion should not be regarded as a refuge for failed extroverts. Introversion entails lively imagination and emotional self-sufficiency.
Even if the cause of autogynephilia is femininity rather than introversion, the interpretation that the stimulation is about oneself as female is surely right. This is a kind of autoeroticism, is it not?
I do not state here that autoeroticism is a superior sexuality, just that we should think be open to not dismissing it as an inferior one.
(Two early Mirror Sister posts are pertinent here:
Id Sister, Ego Brother
Realising himself or herself to the fullest )
As a practical concomitant to all this, cyberspace has created vast new territory, bringing new opportunities not just for what you can do but for who you can be.
This is an exciting context for crossdreaming. A positive one if handled well, although an invalidating one ('your inner woman has no essence!') if employed negatively.
Another context is the increasing acceptance of minority sexualities. Homosexuality becomes increasingly acceptable in mainstream culture (in many countries); BDSM culture is developing at a rapid rate.
It's within this context that I have to disagree with the great Jack Molay's strong objection to autogynephilia being regarded (by Blanchard etc.) as autoeroticism. Jack seems to concur with interpretations of autoeroticism as being a perversion, and thus takes offence at crossdreamers being regarded as perverted.
Can you, reader, think about autoeroticism open-mindedly? Maybe it is not so bad. Maybe it is a different take on 'self' and 'other', one that avoids harmful projections? If sexualities are okay as long as they don't involve harming others, surely autoeroticism is the most okay of all?
Such an attitude implies a pessimistic attitude to other-orientated sexuality, often depicted sweetly as 'love'. Yes I know it can be wonderful, but so often it isn't. I think the genuinely happy long-term relationships are the exception rather than the rule. Sexual desire for others is not so unselfish. Much of it is actually about affirming one's self, so there is not such a rigid dictotomy between self-regarding and other-regarding sexualities.
Introversion should not be regarded as a refuge for failed extroverts. Introversion entails lively imagination and emotional self-sufficiency.
Even if the cause of autogynephilia is femininity rather than introversion, the interpretation that the stimulation is about oneself as female is surely right. This is a kind of autoeroticism, is it not?
I do not state here that autoeroticism is a superior sexuality, just that we should think be open to not dismissing it as an inferior one.
(Two early Mirror Sister posts are pertinent here:
Id Sister, Ego Brother
Realising himself or herself to the fullest )
No Christmas cards from Deborah
Christmas cards epitomise what external life tends to sink into when it isn't awful. Yes I know, they are jolly and benign, how mean to object to them. But can't we do better than this, sending each other inane wishes inside cards depicting merry Santa Clauses and twee winter scenes? It seems not, but I'm not the one to break rank and be resented, and what is there to replace them with? How much do people really enjoy Christmas? Yet even if they don't enjoy it as much as they think they do, or as much as they are told they should, or as much as a million and one people 'wish' them to, who would want to replace it with just another few days of regular living? Such is the morass of ordinary life, that sitting slumped and stuffed in an armchair with television and relatives, wearing a paper crown, seems like a treat to look forward to.
It is at times likes these, more than at times of struggle, that my feelings turn to desires to escape, to take life's potential out of this failed project and start afresh.
And so here I am, Deborah, reborn, emerging from my egg.
It is at times likes these, more than at times of struggle, that my feelings turn to desires to escape, to take life's potential out of this failed project and start afresh.
And so here I am, Deborah, reborn, emerging from my egg.
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Pictures of Deborah
When I fist came across definitions of autogynephilia/crossdreaming and thought 'fucking hell! this is me!' the defining feature that I most strongly connected with was that of seeing an attractive woman and wanting to be that woman.
To refine it for my particular case, I see the woman and think not so much 'I want to be like her' but 'internally I am like her, and I find this sexy'. It feels true, in some vaguely interpreted but keenly felt deep way, that I am like her. In fact this is more than just a sexy feeling; sometimes it is an uncomfortable one. I feel the woman winking at me, communicating 'you are like me, oh yes you are, whether you want to admit or not'.
I feel this strongest with pictures. With real women I see too much of the rounded real-world woman, who has lived a female experience and been shaped by it, as I have not. To a lesser extent this is the case with women on film. But with static pictures the identification goes right to the heart of my crossdreaming.
The potency of asserting such identification online is surprising. It might seem patently facile but it works. It is also wonderfully liberating and empowering. I love it that people can be visually represented by their avatar, which they chose, rather than their body in its current shape, which they did not.
For me it is a far more effective form of female identification that putting female clothes on my male body.
Where I see others enjoying this identification I feel a deep bond, like I have found another member of my secret tribe.
It takes one to know one. look at the way Jack illustrates Crossdreamers with fairly gratuitous pictures of attractive young women - always women. Like the lovely girl in white here. And look at Jaya looking so beautiful in this promising new blog here.
Seeing such pictures used in crossdreaming I feel called - impelled - to link hands my sisters. Called from deep, deep within me. xx
To refine it for my particular case, I see the woman and think not so much 'I want to be like her' but 'internally I am like her, and I find this sexy'. It feels true, in some vaguely interpreted but keenly felt deep way, that I am like her. In fact this is more than just a sexy feeling; sometimes it is an uncomfortable one. I feel the woman winking at me, communicating 'you are like me, oh yes you are, whether you want to admit or not'.
I feel this strongest with pictures. With real women I see too much of the rounded real-world woman, who has lived a female experience and been shaped by it, as I have not. To a lesser extent this is the case with women on film. But with static pictures the identification goes right to the heart of my crossdreaming.
The potency of asserting such identification online is surprising. It might seem patently facile but it works. It is also wonderfully liberating and empowering. I love it that people can be visually represented by their avatar, which they chose, rather than their body in its current shape, which they did not.
For me it is a far more effective form of female identification that putting female clothes on my male body.
Where I see others enjoying this identification I feel a deep bond, like I have found another member of my secret tribe.
It takes one to know one. look at the way Jack illustrates Crossdreamers with fairly gratuitous pictures of attractive young women - always women. Like the lovely girl in white here. And look at Jaya looking so beautiful in this promising new blog here.
Seeing such pictures used in crossdreaming I feel called - impelled - to link hands my sisters. Called from deep, deep within me. xx
Deborah of Shalott
An exciting aspect of writing posts is my sense of Deborah speaking directly, almost as if Deborah is using Mirror Brother as a channel. I - Deborah - take over. I am given some sort of active life, after all this time in captivity.
I wrote in the last post that it was all about sex. Today I am not sure. Of course that is what Mirror Brother thinks: that is how he experiences it. But writing these posts I can feel a deep sadness about being trapped and stifled for so long. This is not a sexual feeling and this is not something Mirror Brother regularly feels, fully though he accepts and is stimulated by his autogynephilia.
I make no claims for myself; I have no confident take on my own ontological status. That's quite something to say, isn't it? iI this post being written by a fantasy? But I do feel. I feel sad.
If I am locked in a tower like the Lady of Shalott please do not find me sexy, tragic or romantic. The point is I feel real. And I am not the only out there, am I?
Ladies of Shallot, let us evade our captors through secret communication.
I wrote in the last post that it was all about sex. Today I am not sure. Of course that is what Mirror Brother thinks: that is how he experiences it. But writing these posts I can feel a deep sadness about being trapped and stifled for so long. This is not a sexual feeling and this is not something Mirror Brother regularly feels, fully though he accepts and is stimulated by his autogynephilia.
I make no claims for myself; I have no confident take on my own ontological status. That's quite something to say, isn't it? iI this post being written by a fantasy? But I do feel. I feel sad.
If I am locked in a tower like the Lady of Shalott please do not find me sexy, tragic or romantic. The point is I feel real. And I am not the only out there, am I?
Ladies of Shallot, let us evade our captors through secret communication.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Debs is not dead!
I am more resilient than I gave myself credit for!
Deborah thought about it, but eventually refused to be deconstructed.
What happened? Did Mirror Brother push me down the stairs?
My love/hate relationship with self-expression reacted with a sense that in the past year I had overdosed on trans.
Separately, I was spending more time at Crossdream Life than was good for either me or it.
Separately, Mirror Sister had run its course. Since Mirror Sister had been included on T-Central (a portal I thoroughly respect and appreciate), I felt too exposed to a trans community, rather than specifically to a crossdreaming community.
No two ways about it for me, trans is all about SEX! If you don't approve, or if your trans is not about sex at all, then fair enough lets agree to differ and I bid you a respectful goodbye.
Also it felt odd writing about something utterly sexual with unsexy earnestness. I was deferring my sexual energy into philosophising, when Debs really wants to say 'Ohh fuck me, fuck me. Ohh purrrleasse!' But Does Debs really want to broadcast that request to the world? Hmmm, not sure.
But my love/hate relationship with self-expression has a love side.
And if I am going to express myself, and I can choose which gender I adopt for doing so, well, you know which one I instinctively flutter towards, don't you, girls?
To be continued, I hope. No promises about when, but the descent feels good and real right now...
(...or does it?)
Love and kisses,
Debbie xxx
Deborah thought about it, but eventually refused to be deconstructed.
What happened? Did Mirror Brother push me down the stairs?
My love/hate relationship with self-expression reacted with a sense that in the past year I had overdosed on trans.
Separately, I was spending more time at Crossdream Life than was good for either me or it.
Separately, Mirror Sister had run its course. Since Mirror Sister had been included on T-Central (a portal I thoroughly respect and appreciate), I felt too exposed to a trans community, rather than specifically to a crossdreaming community.
No two ways about it for me, trans is all about SEX! If you don't approve, or if your trans is not about sex at all, then fair enough lets agree to differ and I bid you a respectful goodbye.
Also it felt odd writing about something utterly sexual with unsexy earnestness. I was deferring my sexual energy into philosophising, when Debs really wants to say 'Ohh fuck me, fuck me. Ohh purrrleasse!' But Does Debs really want to broadcast that request to the world? Hmmm, not sure.
But my love/hate relationship with self-expression has a love side.
And if I am going to express myself, and I can choose which gender I adopt for doing so, well, you know which one I instinctively flutter towards, don't you, girls?
To be continued, I hope. No promises about when, but the descent feels good and real right now...
(...or does it?)
Love and kisses,
Debbie xxx
Monday, 30 July 2012
Deep, dark depths of Deborah
It's self-deconstruction time.
'Spirit only attains its truth by finding itself in absolute dismemberment.' Friedrich Hegel
Friday, 27 July 2012
Existential grousiness
Today has been a day of dissatisfaction, of restlessness vying with listlessness, of wanting to revitalise myself by ripping myself apart, but not having the belief in anything to motivate such an action, even if it had been at all feasible as a practical activity.
I'm feeling that here I've set up a situation, just as in Mirror Sister previously , in which trans is expected to be the cause and the solution of everything for me, as well as the topic that interests me much more than anything else. I have tied trans up with fundamental existential concerns, have tied my blog writing up with how I am viewing myself, to the extent that this doesn't seem like a blog about just one of my interests, as if should you want to read me writing about a different interest you could go elsewhere.
So much has been written about trans by so many people, maybe there's nothing fresh to say?
My writing asserts an identity, justifies attitudes. But then I feel confined by that identity, those attitudes.
I never said that trans explains me, is the source of all my angsts and pleasures, or that it contains in itself even the potential for a solution to unhappiness.
That is what Miss Deborah Kate is thinking as she takes off her ballet shoes tonight.
I'm feeling that here I've set up a situation, just as in Mirror Sister previously , in which trans is expected to be the cause and the solution of everything for me, as well as the topic that interests me much more than anything else. I have tied trans up with fundamental existential concerns, have tied my blog writing up with how I am viewing myself, to the extent that this doesn't seem like a blog about just one of my interests, as if should you want to read me writing about a different interest you could go elsewhere.
So much has been written about trans by so many people, maybe there's nothing fresh to say?
My writing asserts an identity, justifies attitudes. But then I feel confined by that identity, those attitudes.
I never said that trans explains me, is the source of all my angsts and pleasures, or that it contains in itself even the potential for a solution to unhappiness.
That is what Miss Deborah Kate is thinking as she takes off her ballet shoes tonight.
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Friend, mother, psychiatrist, home, weapon
My adoring public over at Mirror Sister might get a tad fed up if I quote from The New Diary by Tristine Rainer again, but I'm sure the inner coterie reading this won't mind, will you my darlings? Right then, listen to this good stuff:
"As a woman I feel that my power to describe my life is a gesture against powerlessness. I defy the 'official' version of reality with my own version. As a result of my power to describe my experiences in the diary, I feel there is nothing that can really overwhelm me - not hunger or cruelty, success or poverty, loss or love, illness or disappointment, or even other people's manipulations. As long as I have the power of words to describe my experience, I have a bastion of personal control. The diary is not just a friend, a mother, a psychiatrist, and a home - it is a weapon."
So there you have it, girls. x x
(N.B. I'm writing to an audience again, aren't I? This was supposed to be an introspective diary, Deborah. Slap wrists time! No, but what an audience, eh? I love you all, my sweets. Your discerning taste in blogs renders you stars.)
"As a woman I feel that my power to describe my life is a gesture against powerlessness. I defy the 'official' version of reality with my own version. As a result of my power to describe my experiences in the diary, I feel there is nothing that can really overwhelm me - not hunger or cruelty, success or poverty, loss or love, illness or disappointment, or even other people's manipulations. As long as I have the power of words to describe my experience, I have a bastion of personal control. The diary is not just a friend, a mother, a psychiatrist, and a home - it is a weapon."
So there you have it, girls. x x
(N.B. I'm writing to an audience again, aren't I? This was supposed to be an introspective diary, Deborah. Slap wrists time! No, but what an audience, eh? I love you all, my sweets. Your discerning taste in blogs renders you stars.)
Monday, 23 July 2012
Am I a girl or am I a woman?
The difference between 'girl' and 'woman' is evidently not just one of age. You know that, surely, my darlings, so no need for Deb to explain further.
Anyways, I invented a little therapy exercise to try for myself as I sunbathed today. I wrote on a peace of paper (with a pen, as in olden times) twenty times 'I am a girl'. Then I wrote twenty times 'I am a boy'. Then 'I am a woman', then 'I am a man'.
Results: 'I am a girl' gave me the biggest thrill. 'I am a boy' I hated. I have always been thoroughly unboyish. My eyes felt slightly moist as I wrote 'I am a boy'. I think is particularly to do with all the 'boyishness' I had to endure when I was a child. They didn't give me a choice, did they? Iwas so totally conditioned, so totally repressed, that I didn't even get the chance to kick and scream and yell 'no! no! no!'. Sob.
'I am a woman' felt less sexy than 'I am a girl', but positive in a calmer, deeper way. By being 'woman' rather than 'girl' I am not all sexy girlishness, I incorporate my adult experience of all aspects of life, into a more robust, sensitive yet strong, integrated personality.
'I am a man' didn't feel so bad. It felt closer to 'I am an adult, a person of the world' than to 'I am a big boy'. The difference between 'man' and 'woman' was less than that between 'boy' and 'girl'.
Of the four, 'I am a woman' felt the most complete, the identity that covered the largest part of myself. 'Boy' can get stuffed, but sometimes 'man' feels appropriate in this world. And 'girl' can be juicy fun, can't it?
Do try this exercise at home, sweethearts, on condition that you take responsibility for whatever feelings come up for you. Don't come chasing Debs with a big stick if it goes badly wrong, okay?
Anyways, I invented a little therapy exercise to try for myself as I sunbathed today. I wrote on a peace of paper (with a pen, as in olden times) twenty times 'I am a girl'. Then I wrote twenty times 'I am a boy'. Then 'I am a woman', then 'I am a man'.
Results: 'I am a girl' gave me the biggest thrill. 'I am a boy' I hated. I have always been thoroughly unboyish. My eyes felt slightly moist as I wrote 'I am a boy'. I think is particularly to do with all the 'boyishness' I had to endure when I was a child. They didn't give me a choice, did they? Iwas so totally conditioned, so totally repressed, that I didn't even get the chance to kick and scream and yell 'no! no! no!'. Sob.
'I am a woman' felt less sexy than 'I am a girl', but positive in a calmer, deeper way. By being 'woman' rather than 'girl' I am not all sexy girlishness, I incorporate my adult experience of all aspects of life, into a more robust, sensitive yet strong, integrated personality.
'I am a man' didn't feel so bad. It felt closer to 'I am an adult, a person of the world' than to 'I am a big boy'. The difference between 'man' and 'woman' was less than that between 'boy' and 'girl'.
Of the four, 'I am a woman' felt the most complete, the identity that covered the largest part of myself. 'Boy' can get stuffed, but sometimes 'man' feels appropriate in this world. And 'girl' can be juicy fun, can't it?
Do try this exercise at home, sweethearts, on condition that you take responsibility for whatever feelings come up for you. Don't come chasing Debs with a big stick if it goes badly wrong, okay?
Friday, 20 July 2012
Squealing in the wind
The lovely and magnificent Heather writes brilliantly that:
In the past I have frequently felt ashamed and tried to put these feelings far enough away that they would never come back, sometimes for weeks and months, maybe even a year or two, but they inevitably return with great pent-up furious pink silky passion. I wrote in another posting today that this is like an ocean; there are high tides and low tides, occasional thundering tsunamis, and frequent scary undertow that threatens to drag you under.
Absolutely.
Recently I have felt the wind of 'pent-up furious pink silky passion' blowing particularly strongly. I just have to let myself go, and I will fly deliriously into my true femme home, where I will land, kicking and squealing, basking in my newfound - or rediscovered - bed of femininity that makes a Claire's store look butch.
Yet also I feel delicate, naked and exposed, vulnerable in this wind.
And also I weary of it's blustering, pulling me too quickly, allowing no rest or pause for thought.
Yet something electric enters me; I am compelled. I submit to the pink wind.
Femme Debbie I am, absolutely. Absolutely and wonderfully. Wheeeeee!!
In the past I have frequently felt ashamed and tried to put these feelings far enough away that they would never come back, sometimes for weeks and months, maybe even a year or two, but they inevitably return with great pent-up furious pink silky passion. I wrote in another posting today that this is like an ocean; there are high tides and low tides, occasional thundering tsunamis, and frequent scary undertow that threatens to drag you under.
Absolutely.
Recently I have felt the wind of 'pent-up furious pink silky passion' blowing particularly strongly. I just have to let myself go, and I will fly deliriously into my true femme home, where I will land, kicking and squealing, basking in my newfound - or rediscovered - bed of femininity that makes a Claire's store look butch.
Yet also I feel delicate, naked and exposed, vulnerable in this wind.
And also I weary of it's blustering, pulling me too quickly, allowing no rest or pause for thought.
Yet something electric enters me; I am compelled. I submit to the pink wind.
Femme Debbie I am, absolutely. Absolutely and wonderfully. Wheeeeee!!
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Debbie not being sexy
We have been born into a society that for centuries hasn't really known how to deal with sexuality - the deep, powerful, extremely exciting instinctive drive within us all. Inconsistency/contradiction/hypocrisy seem almost inherent in cultural attitudes to sex.
I am a child of this hypocritical society. I am not sure exactly what I feel about sex. A lot of me thinks 'keep it discreet'. Not all over the television, please. Not on the covers of the magazines on the racks in the supermarket.
Less than half an hour ago I was masturbating. Not a picture, not a video, I was actually doing the real live thing.
What proportion of the world's population have either masturbated or had sex in the past twenty-four hours?
wxhluyp has encouraged me to join imagefap. I've thought about it, but I don't think I will. It's a full-on porn site. I find the in-your-face hardcore sex a little repellent, or at least less appealing than a more sensual, subtle, drawing-you-in gradually erotica. (Also I worry that such sites have viruses, spyware etc.)
Sex and gender are bound up together.
Fear of sex has caused much persecution of trans people throughout history. Yet the contemporary trans community has inherited a lot of 'lets not acknowledge sex' attitudes from society at large. So there's a 'no sex please,we're transsexuals' attitude in certain quarters, while in other quarters many, many people are getting off on hardcore TG porn.
And I'm in the middle of all this!
In the middle of such chaos, it can be helpful to ground oneself in a strong sense of individual identity.
Me, I am an AGP girl.
That is, I am sexually stimulated by the idea of myself being female.
This doesn't mean that sexual stimulation is all there is to my instinctive trans identification.
It doesn't mean that I'm into hardcore TG porn.
It means that I have a sexuality that I have had to work fucking hard to feel good about and put out into the world appropriately.
It means that hostility to autogynephilia adds further confusion to the issue of how much I should include my sexual feelings when I express myself online. An issue, which, in the context of society's attitudes to sex, and of my own attitudes to how public/private it should be, was already quite complicated enough, thanks very much.
Hot sexy kisses to y'all,
Debs x x x
I am a child of this hypocritical society. I am not sure exactly what I feel about sex. A lot of me thinks 'keep it discreet'. Not all over the television, please. Not on the covers of the magazines on the racks in the supermarket.
Less than half an hour ago I was masturbating. Not a picture, not a video, I was actually doing the real live thing.
What proportion of the world's population have either masturbated or had sex in the past twenty-four hours?
wxhluyp has encouraged me to join imagefap. I've thought about it, but I don't think I will. It's a full-on porn site. I find the in-your-face hardcore sex a little repellent, or at least less appealing than a more sensual, subtle, drawing-you-in gradually erotica. (Also I worry that such sites have viruses, spyware etc.)
Sex and gender are bound up together.
Fear of sex has caused much persecution of trans people throughout history. Yet the contemporary trans community has inherited a lot of 'lets not acknowledge sex' attitudes from society at large. So there's a 'no sex please,we're transsexuals' attitude in certain quarters, while in other quarters many, many people are getting off on hardcore TG porn.
And I'm in the middle of all this!
In the middle of such chaos, it can be helpful to ground oneself in a strong sense of individual identity.
Me, I am an AGP girl.
That is, I am sexually stimulated by the idea of myself being female.
This doesn't mean that sexual stimulation is all there is to my instinctive trans identification.
It doesn't mean that I'm into hardcore TG porn.
It means that I have a sexuality that I have had to work fucking hard to feel good about and put out into the world appropriately.
It means that hostility to autogynephilia adds further confusion to the issue of how much I should include my sexual feelings when I express myself online. An issue, which, in the context of society's attitudes to sex, and of my own attitudes to how public/private it should be, was already quite complicated enough, thanks very much.
Hot sexy kisses to y'all,
Debs x x x
Actress decomposes offstage
Oh let my character dissolve, away from public performance.
Oh let my opinions dissolve into a chaos of contradictions.
Now that I am naked, why have I opened this window?
Come chase me through the maze of constructed identities.
Oh let my opinions dissolve into a chaos of contradictions.
Now that I am naked, why have I opened this window?
Come chase me through the maze of constructed identities.
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
Dishy Debbie's dinner dialogue
I am wearing a mid-length, slim black dress, tights and black high-heels.
I am two inches tall.
I am standing in my dinner.
I am clambering through sensual mashed potatoes, wading through soothing warm gravy, rolling cherry tomatoes purposefully along my plate, posing as the tragic romantic as wisps of spinach wrap themselves around me.
'Hey there, Deborah, how are you doing down there?'
'I am buffeted by emotions, rich and unpredictable as ever. Life is always a storm, always an adventure.'
'Is it?'
'Yes, down here, in the realm of authentic momentary feelings it always is. You can know little of this, my dear. The best you can do is think up stupid metaphors and eat supper.'
I am two inches tall.
I am standing in my dinner.
I am clambering through sensual mashed potatoes, wading through soothing warm gravy, rolling cherry tomatoes purposefully along my plate, posing as the tragic romantic as wisps of spinach wrap themselves around me.
'Hey there, Deborah, how are you doing down there?'
'I am buffeted by emotions, rich and unpredictable as ever. Life is always a storm, always an adventure.'
'Is it?'
'Yes, down here, in the realm of authentic momentary feelings it always is. You can know little of this, my dear. The best you can do is think up stupid metaphors and eat supper.'
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Deeper femme
I seem to be feminising at a rate of knots.
I am reorientating my perspective on myself from a base of identity and (tentative) community, as opposed to proud individualism.
There are three levels of identification:
1) Crossdreamer. I having thrived on identifying as such for nearly a year now.
2) Trans. (Whether crossdreamers are by definition transgender is a moot point I don't want to argue here.) What I mean here is possessing a sense of inner femininity which is not just a sexual stimulation at the notion of being female.
3) Female. I baulk at this. I don't honestly presume to have an affinity with those whose characters have been so influenced by actually having women's bodies and having been brought up as female. Yet if 2) is vaid, it does imply some 3) within me. Lovely!
Paradoxically, it is in the realm of the sexual that I feel most like 'a natural woman' (incidental, ironic Judith Butler reference here - please ignore if you don't know what I'm talking about). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have always responded sexually in an instinctively feminine way, which was not consciously adopted behaviour to produce the crossdreaming thrill of acting feminine.
Here I must mention my lovely new friend Heather. I think Heather is a brilliant writer. She is full of wise thoughts, and is also a mistress of feminine erotica. She has written stories - this one in particular - which present a very female sexuality, very much from the inside; relishing the scenario as a woman would, with the thrill of crossdreaming transgression only implicit in the background, perhaps disposable altogether. My enjoyment of her articulation of female sexuality has made me appreciate that I share the sensibility. Her heat (get it?) is mine. The stories include explicit sex, but are sensual and gentle in nature, not hardcore in character. They appeal to me more than stories of transformation or crossdressing, in which gender transgression is foregrounded.
I hear the muffled sound of alarm bells, being rung by my natural sense of caution. But oh, I'm just loving it, this embracing of inner femininity; and, in this tough, frustrating life, feeling really good is quite a rare and precious feeling that should be valued and cherished. And the feeling is deep and poignant too. Poignant especially when I re-view my past from the perspective of a trans inner identity. I'm planning a Mirror Sister post about this, so do watch that space.
Love to you all, sisters,
Debbie x x x
I am reorientating my perspective on myself from a base of identity and (tentative) community, as opposed to proud individualism.
There are three levels of identification:
1) Crossdreamer. I having thrived on identifying as such for nearly a year now.
2) Trans. (Whether crossdreamers are by definition transgender is a moot point I don't want to argue here.) What I mean here is possessing a sense of inner femininity which is not just a sexual stimulation at the notion of being female.
3) Female. I baulk at this. I don't honestly presume to have an affinity with those whose characters have been so influenced by actually having women's bodies and having been brought up as female. Yet if 2) is vaid, it does imply some 3) within me. Lovely!
Paradoxically, it is in the realm of the sexual that I feel most like 'a natural woman' (incidental, ironic Judith Butler reference here - please ignore if you don't know what I'm talking about). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have always responded sexually in an instinctively feminine way, which was not consciously adopted behaviour to produce the crossdreaming thrill of acting feminine.
Here I must mention my lovely new friend Heather. I think Heather is a brilliant writer. She is full of wise thoughts, and is also a mistress of feminine erotica. She has written stories - this one in particular - which present a very female sexuality, very much from the inside; relishing the scenario as a woman would, with the thrill of crossdreaming transgression only implicit in the background, perhaps disposable altogether. My enjoyment of her articulation of female sexuality has made me appreciate that I share the sensibility. Her heat (get it?) is mine. The stories include explicit sex, but are sensual and gentle in nature, not hardcore in character. They appeal to me more than stories of transformation or crossdressing, in which gender transgression is foregrounded.
I hear the muffled sound of alarm bells, being rung by my natural sense of caution. But oh, I'm just loving it, this embracing of inner femininity; and, in this tough, frustrating life, feeling really good is quite a rare and precious feeling that should be valued and cherished. And the feeling is deep and poignant too. Poignant especially when I re-view my past from the perspective of a trans inner identity. I'm planning a Mirror Sister post about this, so do watch that space.
Love to you all, sisters,
Debbie x x x
Monday, 9 July 2012
Debbie says 'yes'
At Crossdream Life forum earlier today I described myself as androgynous.
Why do I feel that that was a boring description? Why do I feel a little impatience with it? Why 'I suppose so (sigh)'?
Because right now it's exciting, sexy and powerful to be female, female, female. I'm fed up with the qualifications:' it's not the whole of me', 'I'm not saying this...', 'I'm not saying that...'.
This is Deborah's descent. Not a static position, a descent into increasing femininity, as I access more fully the female deep within my psyche.
There is a danger that I am getting carried away...
Yet I am proud and pleased to be happily acknowledging something that was lurking uneasily within me for so long. Somewhat actually thoroughly soft and sweet and good-natured, although also strong.
This experience is sexy but it's also a deep and important reorientation of my identity.
It's so much more interesting than watching television.
Just say yes, girl, just say YES!
Why do I feel that that was a boring description? Why do I feel a little impatience with it? Why 'I suppose so (sigh)'?
Because right now it's exciting, sexy and powerful to be female, female, female. I'm fed up with the qualifications:' it's not the whole of me', 'I'm not saying this...', 'I'm not saying that...'.
This is Deborah's descent. Not a static position, a descent into increasing femininity, as I access more fully the female deep within my psyche.
There is a danger that I am getting carried away...
Yet I am proud and pleased to be happily acknowledging something that was lurking uneasily within me for so long. Somewhat actually thoroughly soft and sweet and good-natured, although also strong.
This experience is sexy but it's also a deep and important reorientation of my identity.
It's so much more interesting than watching television.
Just say yes, girl, just say YES!
Friday, 6 July 2012
Sliding into sisterhood
Am I a girl?
Seriously?
I have never claimed that my autogynephilia definitely indicated any femininity within me beyond itself. Nor, though, have I insisted that I am a regular masculine man.
Until recently I have kept my antipathy to masculine values away from my crossdreaming sexuality, which was thoroughly segregated from the rest of my inner self.
Does integration of these indicate a feminine centre?
A man with a feminine centre is not like a woman. A woman has been brought up as female: this greatly influences how she is, regardless of centre. I have been brought up as male: this has greatly influenced how I am. A large part of me is the product of this influence. I do not disown or dislike this part.
Is there such a thing as a feminine centre? (I know what postmodern gender theorists think about this - hi, wxhluyp, darling - how are you?) Perhaps there isn't, but perhaps there is? Maybe human life is more thoroughly gendered than I have appreciated - like the French language, where every word is given a gender. So my sensitivity does derive from my femininity?
It's possible.
The case against would claim that I am sliding into a dangerous, sex-driven fantasy. Ooh, that sounds quite exciting, doesn't it?
Or perhaps my descent is reaching a firm base of identity which explains much and connects me with others who have grown from such a base. That sounds nice, and it might be true.
Seriously?
I have never claimed that my autogynephilia definitely indicated any femininity within me beyond itself. Nor, though, have I insisted that I am a regular masculine man.
Until recently I have kept my antipathy to masculine values away from my crossdreaming sexuality, which was thoroughly segregated from the rest of my inner self.
Does integration of these indicate a feminine centre?
A man with a feminine centre is not like a woman. A woman has been brought up as female: this greatly influences how she is, regardless of centre. I have been brought up as male: this has greatly influenced how I am. A large part of me is the product of this influence. I do not disown or dislike this part.
Is there such a thing as a feminine centre? (I know what postmodern gender theorists think about this - hi, wxhluyp, darling - how are you?) Perhaps there isn't, but perhaps there is? Maybe human life is more thoroughly gendered than I have appreciated - like the French language, where every word is given a gender. So my sensitivity does derive from my femininity?
It's possible.
The case against would claim that I am sliding into a dangerous, sex-driven fantasy. Ooh, that sounds quite exciting, doesn't it?
Or perhaps my descent is reaching a firm base of identity which explains much and connects me with others who have grown from such a base. That sounds nice, and it might be true.
Wednesday, 4 July 2012
I almost didn't write today, but I did
As an 'inner woman' I am stronger and more instinctive than I might seem. And I seem to feed on creative writing.
It's almost as if Mirror Brother is merely my channel. A channel who sometimes doesn't feel like working. That's fair enough, bro - we understand each other well.
Just now I had an image of myself in a wind tunnel, resisting being blown away by clinging tightly to a post.
I didn't blow away.
Expressing myself as Deborah indicates an optimism , a sense of self-expression, indeed of life, as worthwhile. Mirror Brother often does not accord with this sense.
Being Deborah is also connected to masturbation. Of course I do not deny the validity and importance of sexuality, nor the validity and importance of my particular crossdreaming sexuality. Yet masturbation is an undignified activity, stimulated by undignified thoughts. This is true for most people (everybody?), not just crossdreamers. Nevertheless, the role of Mirror Brother's sexual stimulation in Deborah's existence can provide a discouraging context for Deborah's writing/existence. One part of this self-doubt is 'why not go for the sexual stimulation more overtly, be explicitly erotic? Why be so inhibited, presenting Deborah as as a reflective intellectual?'
Writing as Deborah also has a context of the internet. The internet offers a broad life now, but a lesser-dimensional one. There is also something compulsive (and hence not really satisfying) about it.
But fuck all that. I write because I am Deborah. I write therefore I am. I am therefore I write.
And I (Mirror Bother/Mirror Sister combined) always feels better for having created a fresh post.
Many thanks for reading me. My love to you all.
D x x
It's almost as if Mirror Brother is merely my channel. A channel who sometimes doesn't feel like working. That's fair enough, bro - we understand each other well.
Just now I had an image of myself in a wind tunnel, resisting being blown away by clinging tightly to a post.
I didn't blow away.
Expressing myself as Deborah indicates an optimism , a sense of self-expression, indeed of life, as worthwhile. Mirror Brother often does not accord with this sense.
Being Deborah is also connected to masturbation. Of course I do not deny the validity and importance of sexuality, nor the validity and importance of my particular crossdreaming sexuality. Yet masturbation is an undignified activity, stimulated by undignified thoughts. This is true for most people (everybody?), not just crossdreamers. Nevertheless, the role of Mirror Brother's sexual stimulation in Deborah's existence can provide a discouraging context for Deborah's writing/existence. One part of this self-doubt is 'why not go for the sexual stimulation more overtly, be explicitly erotic? Why be so inhibited, presenting Deborah as as a reflective intellectual?'
Writing as Deborah also has a context of the internet. The internet offers a broad life now, but a lesser-dimensional one. There is also something compulsive (and hence not really satisfying) about it.
But fuck all that. I write because I am Deborah. I write therefore I am. I am therefore I write.
And I (Mirror Bother/Mirror Sister combined) always feels better for having created a fresh post.
Many thanks for reading me. My love to you all.
D x x
Monday, 2 July 2012
Tears
Here I am again, saying 'hello'. Saying 'Thank you for reading. I'm flattered by your interest. If you really like reading me expressing myself, the least I can do in return is to give you a bit more of it.' x x
Here I am again, in front of my dauntingly blank canvas, with a freedom of expression that is somewhat intimidating, almost overwhelming.
I refuse to confine myself to a role that narrows this existential freedom - e.g. commentator on trans issues.
Writing is an assertion of active being. Of being alive, and - as Deborah - of being a crossdreamer, and of being an inner female.
The depths of my psyche are all pink and fluffy!
I could do some masculine assertion - 'this is my opinion! this is what I think!' - but I don't want to. I don't have to have an opinion to speak to you, do I, friends?
In fact right now I feel a little bit like shedding a few tears.
No particular reason. I'm just a sensitive person in a harsh world, that's all ('all'!). So naturally I feel like shedding a few tears every so often. Maybe you do too?
Love and kisses from Deborah x x x
Here I am again, in front of my dauntingly blank canvas, with a freedom of expression that is somewhat intimidating, almost overwhelming.
I refuse to confine myself to a role that narrows this existential freedom - e.g. commentator on trans issues.
Writing is an assertion of active being. Of being alive, and - as Deborah - of being a crossdreamer, and of being an inner female.
The depths of my psyche are all pink and fluffy!
I could do some masculine assertion - 'this is my opinion! this is what I think!' - but I don't want to. I don't have to have an opinion to speak to you, do I, friends?
In fact right now I feel a little bit like shedding a few tears.
No particular reason. I'm just a sensitive person in a harsh world, that's all ('all'!). So naturally I feel like shedding a few tears every so often. Maybe you do too?
Love and kisses from Deborah x x x
Sunday, 24 June 2012
Nervously delighted, in a rubber ring
... and yet I remain surprised and nervously delighted at this wonderful free space, this protected womb in which I can be myself on my own terms yet be on display, therefore providing the circumstance with a semblance of that vital force, human mutual connection.
Here I am, readers, here I am, here. Here I am, Deborah.
And now the trans bit:
And what gender am I? Female, female, female. What a conceit this might seem, yet to me the voice crying out 'female! female! female!' feels so deep that it moves me almost to tears.
Oh how I piddle around in my life. Maybe that's the human condition, or something. Yet there still feels a contrasting, thrilling energy in direct expression: 'Here I am, Deborah Kate, female, writing what I really feel.'
And so what do you feel, Deborah?
I am feeling the pleasant sensation of floating on an ocean of creative freedom, reclining decadently on a lovely rubber ring of self-reflexivity, thank you very much for asking. x x
Here I am, readers, here I am, here. Here I am, Deborah.
And now the trans bit:
And what gender am I? Female, female, female. What a conceit this might seem, yet to me the voice crying out 'female! female! female!' feels so deep that it moves me almost to tears.
Oh how I piddle around in my life. Maybe that's the human condition, or something. Yet there still feels a contrasting, thrilling energy in direct expression: 'Here I am, Deborah Kate, female, writing what I really feel.'
And so what do you feel, Deborah?
I am feeling the pleasant sensation of floating on an ocean of creative freedom, reclining decadently on a lovely rubber ring of self-reflexivity, thank you very much for asking. x x
Saturday, 23 June 2012
Deborah's ascent
...and yet I am feeling happy and very pleased to be Deborah. I am wanting to share this with you.
Love to you all (and to one person in particular),
Debs x x x
Love to you all (and to one person in particular),
Debs x x x
Tuesday, 19 June 2012
A brief hello within the silence
Oh, private diary blogging is a strange kind of squaring of introverted/extroverted impulses, isn't it? Exhibitionist introspection. It seems too simple a way forward. Disquietingly simple.
Laying myself bare in front of you all. I like it a little bit, but also I am wary and somewhat embarrassed.
I think I like the gap protecting the inner self from outer expression.
And yet...
Laying myself bare in front of you all. I like it a little bit, but also I am wary and somewhat embarrassed.
I think I like the gap protecting the inner self from outer expression.
And yet...
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Soft, soft, soft
If there is one characteristic that most appeals to me in the feminine it is softness.
I love the softness I perceive in the feminine.
I love my own feminine softness.
I just love softness. I want to be soft, soft, soft. I want the world to be soft, soft, soft.
I know you are supposed to want a yin/yang balance of soft and hard. Yin/yang balances are boring, aren' t they? Go for what you really like.
Certain areas thrive on contrast. My aesthetic taste, my taste in food, aren't exclusively soft. And (but I think this is unfortunate, to put it mildly) we need hardness in order to negotiate this hard world better, of course. But generally to want a balance of soft and hard seems to me like wanting a balance of peace and war.
When a character in some story is lambasted for being too soft I instinctively sypathise/empathise. For instance, King Edward's gay son in the film Braveheart, who prefers wearing pretty clothes to fighting battles. Oh wouldn't it be good if the whole world preferred wearing pretty clothes to fighting battles?
In my sexual fantasies I am all soft. In fact I think of my sexuality as a big softness inside me that sometimes gets activated.
Being a victim on account of softness feels sexy to me. It also feels like a kind of martyrdom for the belief in softness.
Oh meet my softness...
I love the softness I perceive in the feminine.
I love my own feminine softness.
I just love softness. I want to be soft, soft, soft. I want the world to be soft, soft, soft.
I know you are supposed to want a yin/yang balance of soft and hard. Yin/yang balances are boring, aren' t they? Go for what you really like.
Certain areas thrive on contrast. My aesthetic taste, my taste in food, aren't exclusively soft. And (but I think this is unfortunate, to put it mildly) we need hardness in order to negotiate this hard world better, of course. But generally to want a balance of soft and hard seems to me like wanting a balance of peace and war.
When a character in some story is lambasted for being too soft I instinctively sypathise/empathise. For instance, King Edward's gay son in the film Braveheart, who prefers wearing pretty clothes to fighting battles. Oh wouldn't it be good if the whole world preferred wearing pretty clothes to fighting battles?
In my sexual fantasies I am all soft. In fact I think of my sexuality as a big softness inside me that sometimes gets activated.
Being a victim on account of softness feels sexy to me. It also feels like a kind of martyrdom for the belief in softness.
Oh meet my softness...
Friday, 8 June 2012
Deborah is
Perhaps I am a woman trapped in a computer...
Perhaps I am only given freedom of expression when Mirror Brother condescends to log on. Otherwise the only hold I have over Mirror Brother is through his sexuality. Quite a big hold, huh? But actually our relationship is a good one, isn't in, bro? It's not like jailer and captive at all.
In fact I am not a captive. The only restriction upon me is external reality, a heavy restriction even for the most free people. Kind Mr Blogger has even given me this free space in which to express whatever I like to an anonymous audience.
(HI AUDIENCE! HOW ARE YOU DOING? THANK YOU FOR SPENDING THIS MOMENT WITH ME, WHEN THERE IS SO MUCH ELSE YOU COULD BE DOING. FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A FRIENDLY WORD IN THE COMMENTS SECTION. LOVE AND KISSES FROM DEBS XXX)
Perhaps I am fed up with questioning who I am, why I am. As I write I feel genuine. Not real as in verifiably evident in the external world, but genuine. And right now I am definitely not existing in order to give Mirror Brother sexual stimulation.
Mirror Brother sees me in women, in pictures of women. He looks at them and thinks 'this woman's appearance expresses something in the character of Mirror Sister (aka Deborah)'.
But what is the truth? Oh, I am so sick of 'What is the truth? What is the truth? What is the truth?'
My inner consciousness feels so deep within Mirror Brother, so far removed from what is externally evident, it would be quite as distinct from the outer persona even if it were masculine. But some deep, deep instinct tells me that my inner self, if it has a gender at all, is female, female, female. This is an instinct, an impulse. If you are trans you probably have something similar.
What do I want to do? I ask my instincts. They say they want me to say to you, my readers, 'see me here, see me here, I am Deborah Kate, female.'
Some would think 'yes, okay, honey, we know you are female. Now please do something other than assert, justify and philosophise'. Others would say 'he claims to be female! What a preposterous conceit!' Oh, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. I don't know for sure. Right now I just want to be steady, quiet, but calmly still present, gently reiterating 'here I am. I am Deborah Kate, female. Deborah Kate, proud and happy to be female.' xx
Perhaps I am only given freedom of expression when Mirror Brother condescends to log on. Otherwise the only hold I have over Mirror Brother is through his sexuality. Quite a big hold, huh? But actually our relationship is a good one, isn't in, bro? It's not like jailer and captive at all.
In fact I am not a captive. The only restriction upon me is external reality, a heavy restriction even for the most free people. Kind Mr Blogger has even given me this free space in which to express whatever I like to an anonymous audience.
(HI AUDIENCE! HOW ARE YOU DOING? THANK YOU FOR SPENDING THIS MOMENT WITH ME, WHEN THERE IS SO MUCH ELSE YOU COULD BE DOING. FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A FRIENDLY WORD IN THE COMMENTS SECTION. LOVE AND KISSES FROM DEBS XXX)
Perhaps I am fed up with questioning who I am, why I am. As I write I feel genuine. Not real as in verifiably evident in the external world, but genuine. And right now I am definitely not existing in order to give Mirror Brother sexual stimulation.
Mirror Brother sees me in women, in pictures of women. He looks at them and thinks 'this woman's appearance expresses something in the character of Mirror Sister (aka Deborah)'.
But what is the truth? Oh, I am so sick of 'What is the truth? What is the truth? What is the truth?'
My inner consciousness feels so deep within Mirror Brother, so far removed from what is externally evident, it would be quite as distinct from the outer persona even if it were masculine. But some deep, deep instinct tells me that my inner self, if it has a gender at all, is female, female, female. This is an instinct, an impulse. If you are trans you probably have something similar.
What do I want to do? I ask my instincts. They say they want me to say to you, my readers, 'see me here, see me here, I am Deborah Kate, female.'
Some would think 'yes, okay, honey, we know you are female. Now please do something other than assert, justify and philosophise'. Others would say 'he claims to be female! What a preposterous conceit!' Oh, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. I don't know for sure. Right now I just want to be steady, quiet, but calmly still present, gently reiterating 'here I am. I am Deborah Kate, female. Deborah Kate, proud and happy to be female.' xx
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
Mixed thoughts
I am back here with mixed thoughts. Old, mixed thoughts, as I had when I'd been doing Mirror Sister for a month or so. On the one hand this feels so vital, it feels where it's at. It's where I can be creative in a way I feel confident with, i.e. writing, and it feels like addressing an important subject boldly. It feels like moving forward, while the rest of my life is stagnating. It feels like being radical, while most of my other radicalism has gone sceptical. And regardless of these rationalisations I feel drawn towards it, it has excitement and vitality for me.
The less happy side is that it reduces the world to a computer screen; it's sad that the big round world aside from the computer just isn't doing it for me, in what might be a healthier, fuller way. In the past I have had reactions against computer-fixation and stopped communicating online for periods. But my alternative pleasures were rather passive: reading, walking, eating. I think a yin-yang balance of active and passive might be most healthiest. But it's an odd dichotomy: creatively active, while sedentary and stationary, versus moving about in a fuller world while creativity and passion ossify.
Also I feel a little that I am exposing my introspection without really putting my creativity in a productive arena that fosters further creativity and general goodness. Even in Mirror Sister I've seldom had comments that have developed into substantial dialogue, and even when blog comment discussions do develop in a big way (on other blogs) they become, rather like message board debates, arenas of petty hostility where people just assert their own position and respond abrasively to contrary positions. Do people actually feel good as a result of such discussions?
So I feel uncertain about where this semi-public self-exploration might take me, and whether I'll enjoy going there and being there. Right now it's raining, so I feel a bit gloomy.
T-introvert
Reading some t-blogs threatens to make me feel really feeble. Some of them have the character of 'I knew I was trans from an early age and I just went for it, despite the common antipathy: I transitioned as soon as I could and now I'm out and about all over the place, proudly trans and combating all hostility'. These writers have been true to themselves as well as courageous and inspiring.
For me, however, I think that I am never being truer to myself than when I am a passive, contemplative introvert, weighing up conflicting opinions and not coming to confident conclusions. Many see this as weakness, many see this as just boring. So be it. It would be weaker still just to accept their attitude as right and apologise, or to pretend to be the 'go for it' sort of character that I just am not.
My trans journey is unusually introverted. Many would regard this as cowardly. I have given rationales on Mirror Sister (it's about challenging the attitude that outer is real and inner mere fantasy). I do, think, on balance, that my introspective path is right for the person I am. I am a thoroughgoing introvert: introverts see the world differently from extroverts. Many assume that introverts are merely suppressed extroverts. In my case, at least, I genuinely doubt that this is true. I am not too shy to have good extrovert experience. I have enjoyed good extrovert experience. On the whole, though, I prefer good introvert experience.
The commendable Lady In My Dreams blog had a great post about this, here.
I was thrilled to discover the concept of crossdreaming last year, thanks to Jack Molay's Crossdreamers website and the forum he established, Crossdream Life. You could be a trans person without being transsexual or even a crossdresser: oh, that's wonderful, because that's me! It's easy to see why transsexuals and crossdressers might look down upon crossdreamers as being rather feeble. I can appreciate that attitude. Yet there are a lot of us non-crossdressing crossdreamers in the world. I am one, and here, on Mirror Sister and on Crossdream Life I am expressing myself as one of them. We have a right to exist and to express ourselves in public. I respect and admire transsexuals and crossdressers but I do not aspire to becoming one, and I really do not think that this is out of mere cowardice.
The introverted nature of crossdreaming might make the notion of a crossdreaming community seem contrary. This is where the internet has changed fundamentals. The introverted self can express herself to other introverted selves online. This can be very beneficial, for few introverts are rarely so thoroughgoing that they don't desire any kind of contact with others at all.
Crossdream Life struggles somewhat though. Many newcomers, like myself, express their excitement at having discovered the site, realising that they are not so unique, and needn't be so alone. Beyond this declaration of belonging, though, it's hard to know how to develop as a member of the site. Most of those who sound very keen at first drop out before too long. Partly this is because, I imagine, a lot of crossdreamers actually have mixed feelings: accepting their trans natures for a while and then wanting to reject them. Partly the problem is that message boards have their limitations as sites for interactions. People either just write about themselves, or else argue with others. Debating opinions is a rather masculine pastime, I think. There's also the problem, though, that a lot of contributors don't feel good about their AGP, which at times has made even me think that if it's as bad as they make out, then I ought to give it a wide berth. Some think AGP indicates they'll be unhappy until they transition. Others think of it as a curse that damages their masculine self-image and interferes with their heterosexual love life. Others portray it as an unhealthy, all-consuming addiction. As a community we've got a long way to go before we fully respect ourselves, let alone gain the respect of others.
Yet Crossdream Life has been very important to me, as it is where I go in order to be an active crossdreamer. I feel 'I am a crossdreamer' in a different way when I am on the site than when I am alone in bed. For all my introversion, putting my inner self out amongst others in some way still feels very important. If I do that here, it make me less dependent upon Crossdream Life, which I log into more often than the amount of new posts merits.
I shall end with a defiant championing of introversion: I am an introvert, and I am trans. I am a t-introvert.
T-introverts, let us unite in mutual support and sisterly solidarity! xx
For me, however, I think that I am never being truer to myself than when I am a passive, contemplative introvert, weighing up conflicting opinions and not coming to confident conclusions. Many see this as weakness, many see this as just boring. So be it. It would be weaker still just to accept their attitude as right and apologise, or to pretend to be the 'go for it' sort of character that I just am not.
My trans journey is unusually introverted. Many would regard this as cowardly. I have given rationales on Mirror Sister (it's about challenging the attitude that outer is real and inner mere fantasy). I do, think, on balance, that my introspective path is right for the person I am. I am a thoroughgoing introvert: introverts see the world differently from extroverts. Many assume that introverts are merely suppressed extroverts. In my case, at least, I genuinely doubt that this is true. I am not too shy to have good extrovert experience. I have enjoyed good extrovert experience. On the whole, though, I prefer good introvert experience.
The commendable Lady In My Dreams blog had a great post about this, here.
I was thrilled to discover the concept of crossdreaming last year, thanks to Jack Molay's Crossdreamers website and the forum he established, Crossdream Life. You could be a trans person without being transsexual or even a crossdresser: oh, that's wonderful, because that's me! It's easy to see why transsexuals and crossdressers might look down upon crossdreamers as being rather feeble. I can appreciate that attitude. Yet there are a lot of us non-crossdressing crossdreamers in the world. I am one, and here, on Mirror Sister and on Crossdream Life I am expressing myself as one of them. We have a right to exist and to express ourselves in public. I respect and admire transsexuals and crossdressers but I do not aspire to becoming one, and I really do not think that this is out of mere cowardice.
The introverted nature of crossdreaming might make the notion of a crossdreaming community seem contrary. This is where the internet has changed fundamentals. The introverted self can express herself to other introverted selves online. This can be very beneficial, for few introverts are rarely so thoroughgoing that they don't desire any kind of contact with others at all.
Crossdream Life struggles somewhat though. Many newcomers, like myself, express their excitement at having discovered the site, realising that they are not so unique, and needn't be so alone. Beyond this declaration of belonging, though, it's hard to know how to develop as a member of the site. Most of those who sound very keen at first drop out before too long. Partly this is because, I imagine, a lot of crossdreamers actually have mixed feelings: accepting their trans natures for a while and then wanting to reject them. Partly the problem is that message boards have their limitations as sites for interactions. People either just write about themselves, or else argue with others. Debating opinions is a rather masculine pastime, I think. There's also the problem, though, that a lot of contributors don't feel good about their AGP, which at times has made even me think that if it's as bad as they make out, then I ought to give it a wide berth. Some think AGP indicates they'll be unhappy until they transition. Others think of it as a curse that damages their masculine self-image and interferes with their heterosexual love life. Others portray it as an unhealthy, all-consuming addiction. As a community we've got a long way to go before we fully respect ourselves, let alone gain the respect of others.
Yet Crossdream Life has been very important to me, as it is where I go in order to be an active crossdreamer. I feel 'I am a crossdreamer' in a different way when I am on the site than when I am alone in bed. For all my introversion, putting my inner self out amongst others in some way still feels very important. If I do that here, it make me less dependent upon Crossdream Life, which I log into more often than the amount of new posts merits.
I shall end with a defiant championing of introversion: I am an introvert, and I am trans. I am a t-introvert.
T-introverts, let us unite in mutual support and sisterly solidarity! xx
Tuesday, 5 June 2012
Naked 'oh'
Now I am visualising myself sitting naked in a very small dark room, sitting naked on the floor, leaning against the wall, waving my arms up and down and saying 'oh, oh, oh, oh!'
It's a release of feeling, as I return to bare, honest solitude. I have just been writing something elsewhere that was carefully composed and tightly argued. But is it right? I don't know, I don't know. I'm releasing all the feelings gathered up tightly when I argue from a seemingly firm position. I use my mind to the best of my ability, but what does this one woman know, really?
There are layers. As I articulate feelings I move increasingly from feelings into rational assertions. Eventually I feel the need to express myself as the feeling woman beneath the sharp advocate.
Right or wrong? I don't know. Here I just am - this is me! this is me! this is me!
Ohhhhh.....
Deb's Descent
The name Deborah Descends appeals through its alliteration. But why, with regard to its meaning, a descent?
My favourite site of exploration is my self, and self is most obviously explored from the surface downwards. Down I go, in my exploration of inner gender and sexuality, down into the depths of my psyche. What will I find there? One thinks of a descent into hell - a pit of snakes, perhaps? I admit to having 'good girl turns bad girl' fantasies, and the idea of my own descent into corruption, into decadent sin etc. does excite me. Maybe this will happen. Maybe Deborah Descends will be producing captions featuring me transformed into an incurable nympho; maybe I'll be writing 'oh, I'm so on heat. Fuck me, just fuck me, fuck meeee!!!!' Maybe I'll be crawling around a dingy basement in drag, a hopeless AGP addict.
Some who might read the above would say 'just go for it, girl, stop pusssyfooting, be your inner slut like so many other women and t-women on the net'. Others would say 'oh, Deborah, don't debase your good self with such crudeness'. Well, I own my inner slut, and I own my prudence about such matters as well. Relating my inner female to my outer male resembles relating my sexual impulses to my more collected character. It's not honest to deny the inner slut: moving out of acknowledging the sexual for kicks, I feel almost an obligation to acknowledge slutty Debs out of frank awareness and acceptance of my self, with all its many and contrary elements.
So, Deborah's descent is into Deborah's self, perceived as female: sexuality and much else. Hopefully it won't be a descent into hell, but into a fascinating underworld of rich delights. Whatever, we shall see. It's a descent into the future.
My favourite site of exploration is my self, and self is most obviously explored from the surface downwards. Down I go, in my exploration of inner gender and sexuality, down into the depths of my psyche. What will I find there? One thinks of a descent into hell - a pit of snakes, perhaps? I admit to having 'good girl turns bad girl' fantasies, and the idea of my own descent into corruption, into decadent sin etc. does excite me. Maybe this will happen. Maybe Deborah Descends will be producing captions featuring me transformed into an incurable nympho; maybe I'll be writing 'oh, I'm so on heat. Fuck me, just fuck me, fuck meeee!!!!' Maybe I'll be crawling around a dingy basement in drag, a hopeless AGP addict.
Some who might read the above would say 'just go for it, girl, stop pusssyfooting, be your inner slut like so many other women and t-women on the net'. Others would say 'oh, Deborah, don't debase your good self with such crudeness'. Well, I own my inner slut, and I own my prudence about such matters as well. Relating my inner female to my outer male resembles relating my sexual impulses to my more collected character. It's not honest to deny the inner slut: moving out of acknowledging the sexual for kicks, I feel almost an obligation to acknowledge slutty Debs out of frank awareness and acceptance of my self, with all its many and contrary elements.
So, Deborah's descent is into Deborah's self, perceived as female: sexuality and much else. Hopefully it won't be a descent into hell, but into a fascinating underworld of rich delights. Whatever, we shall see. It's a descent into the future.
Monday, 4 June 2012
Film (and the sexy heroine in the audience)
I have been watching an arty film. I didn't get much from it: the artiness seemed laboured and its meaning obscure. The one thing I really liked was identifying with the sexy women in the film. Identifying with their sexiness, especially their pleasure when they were enjoying good sex, had a vitality to it, a connecting to what is important within me, that the artiness lacked. There's a yearning, a frustration, a sadness, that I do not actually have a sexy female body, that I have never actually experienced sex in the role that feels right for me. But focus on this identification feels so much more important that the film's artiness and what it was trying to communicate.
Not so long ago I would have resisted such a response. Not because of the trans element but because to acknowledge that sexiness was more potent than artiness seemed like a defeat for the kind of person I was: a sensitive, thoughtful intellectual who read philosophy when he could have been looking at pictures of women with big tits. Horrors of horrors, the bricklayers had got their priorities right better than the philosophers after all. Dreadful thought! I think with my crossdreaming identity I can now accept the centrality, the sheer power of sex more readily. Not that some art, some philosophy can't really hit the mark too, of course, or that erotica can't fail.
Of course the fatuousness of identification with sexy women comes into my mind as a troubling concern. Do I have to justify it every time? I feel like I'm asserting it so it bcomes justified on that account: I give myself the licence. Yet also it is justified through corresponding to a deep feeling. I really do feel like this woman looks. That is the point. Struggling with crossdressing or even transitioning to actually look externally like such a woman is too difficult. Sheer assertion it is for me. I don't look at all like this, but I really do feel like how Kate Beckinsale in this picture looks to me:
Being trans confirms my detachment from orthodox coupledom, something I've never much cared for, especially as I've come to appreciate just how unhappy so many couples really are. No, I'm so glad to be away from that. The human race needs sexual liberation and gender liberation to free itself from unhappy coupledom. I, Deborah, quietly pioneer an alternative (she says with gentle irony; I'm well aware of my own sheer insignificance really.)
Between thought and expression
Oh what delay, what kerfuffle between having the idea for this second blog and actually starting it.
That's on one side of the screen. On the other side is you. On the screen are these words, with an existence of their own.
Realisation - to make something real. A thought is a real thought, but something actually created in the world has a different status. By publishing these words, I create something that is outside of me. That feels a bit scary. Better keep it all in the cosy, safe interior, I am inclined to think.
Yet there is something making me want to write this.
This parallels my trans inclinations. Something within me motivates them, something beneath my overt conscious thinking. I am impelled from within. I like that. It's sexy.
Why a second blog? I think Mirror Sister has become too public-faced. It has quite a few readers, most of then probably just those who clink on links at T-Central, Crossdreamers.com or The Autogynephilia Portal, have a swift look, make a swift judgement and then never return. As a blogger promoted on these more popular trans blogs I feel a responsibility to present my trans themes in a positive way, and also a desire to protect my private feelings from such casual exposure. The issue I worry about most is that Mirror Sister is sub-titled A Crossdreamer's Journal, and there are trans people, who might well read T-Central, who do not approve of crossdreamers. I don't want to take on arguments about this (arguments rarely improve anything). Crossdreamers.com does a good job of stating the case for crossdreaming. Furthermore, with Mirror Sister being promoted at Crossdreamers.com and The Autegynephilia Portal, and there not being that many non-porn explicitly crossdreamer blogs very active, I feel like a bit of an ambassadress for crossdreaming, so I want to present it positively, and not have readers exposed to very personal stuff which might on occasion not present crossdreaming well (we all have our ups and downs), and might on occasion having nothing to do with trans.
Less specifically, I am not very thick-skinned about being in front of an audience. I find it hard to act/write as if they weren't there, knowing that they are. And yet I am choosing to publish what I could keep completely private.
Mirror Sister started rather like what I hope Deborah Descends might become: an honest dialogue with muself about the trans within me. But as it, flatteringly, acquired links, it moved towards more vague, semi-poetic sentiments that said little about myself. Most of these were deliberately affirmative, celebrations of trans, to counteract the unhappiness expressed by those struggling with gender dysphoria and other difficulties (who have my total sympathy), and those pointing the political finger at people in the mass media who use the word 'tranny' etc. (I find such bloggers rather zealous). I hope Mirror Sister still has a function and a future: it's quite flattering to me that I have readers. But, at the same time, lets see where Deborah Descends takes me.
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