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:

The film including a scene featuring a middle-aged couple having a fight. It was really, really horrible. It did not make me think 'this is well composed', nor 'this is a commendably frank depiction of what goes on in private in so many homes', it just made me think 'how callous of the director to expose his audience to these wretched scenes that make one feel wretched about human society to no good effect'.' It's hardly going to inspire the audience to go out there and change the character of human relationships.

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.)