Jun 272015
 

I have new breasts.

Evoe in a bikiniI’m coming out of a two month haze of post-surgery recovery to discover a new me. I didn’t hate my breasts before. I liked my body, but I just never felt RIGHT. It’s difficult to articulate the unhappiness I felt living with the vague dis-ease of shame/discomfort/awkwardness while embodied. I didn’t fully recognize the weight of living with those feelings until I changed my body to fit my inner self-image. All of the wrong stories I’ve told myself about my body are simply falling away, leaving…me.

I carry myself differently after breast reduction surgery. I feel lighter, more confident. I am totally distracted by my new shape, running my fingers over my curves and scars, marveling at the wide gap between my compact breasts, loving my smaller areolas. I am absorbed in relearning myself, discovering that one of my nipples is so sensitive I almost orgasm with a light touch and the other hardly feels anything at all. It’s all new.

My self image has totally shifted. I am seeing myself as more athletic. I’m working on getting the rest of my body in line with this vision. Contrary to what I expected, having smaller breasts is making me feel more feminine. I am filled with a new reverence for my body. This experience is liberating. Anything is possible.

It’s been a challenge to get to this place of joy. Reduction surgery has been a bit of an ordeal for me. I wasn’t 100% signed up for it, but I did it anyway. It’s very weird to wake up knowing that a visible part of your body has been removed or reduced. It’s been uncomfortable dealing with pain and physical limitations. I have found this process to be as much emotional and spiritual as physical. The journey has been unexpected, perhaps a sort of coming-of-age, like puberty.

Making love in this place is sweet, all urgency and explorations. I was relieved to still feel desire. At first we were scared to fuck, imagining my breasts like a molded Jell-O desert that’s been shaken too much. Mutual masturbation helped us to find our connection. I received reassurance that my body was still beautiful even with 40 inches of stitches. My longing for intimate touch took us deep. We remembered how to make out, gazing into each others eyes while sharing breath. Finding myself anew means that our love is also transformed.

newer smaller breastsIt’s not all that woo-woo though. Sometimes I am totally shallow. I spend more time in front of the mirror. I change my clothes ten times every morning. I dream about the clothes I will be able to wear now. I bought a bikini off the rack for the first time since high school and I plan to wear it!

I cannot describe my joy at starting to feel right in my body. Yes, this has cost me money and time and pain for an outcome I was unsure of. For a long time I was afraid to take the risk or put the energy into it. But if you’ve ever wished that you could change something about your body because it’s keeping you from being who you see yourself to be, then you will understand when I say that it’s worth it. I am not yet where I want to be, but this ability to reimagine myself is one of the most powerful forces in my life. And I have new breasts!

Apr 242015
 

Bra marksI’m getting nervous about breast reduction surgery. It’s coming up soon. This feels major – a decision bigger than getting married but less momentous than having a child. I had my tonsils removed when I was a kid, but this is my breasts. I am excited and a bit uncertain.

I’ve wanted breast reduction since I was 16. For years I’ve struggled with back and shoulder pain, seeking out a wide variety of healing modalities. I can’t sleep on my stomach or stretch fully without putting my back out. It hurts to run, even with great support. The worst thing is that I just keep getting bigger, even without gaining weight.

Breasts are awesome – all kinds of breasts. I think my breasts are beautiful, and yet when I imagine them smaller I feel incredibly happy. I could go braless. The permanent divots on my shoulders could smooth out. No more rashes under my boobs every summer, no getting stabbed in the armpit by out of control underwires. I could buy sexy little lace bras at Victoria Secret instead of them looking me up and down and sniffing, “We don’t carry anything your size.” (Which is currently 34I, in case you were wondering.)

FlattenedMy reasons for surgery are emotional as well. There is something about being fuller figured that makes some men feel like they can treat you like an object. I would like to choose the times that I present as sexy rather than being objectified over anatomy I can’t control. Imagine if penises were hard and protruding all the time and people you didn’t like saw that as in invitation.

I haven’t been feeling comfortable in my body for a long time. My clothes don’t fit right. As a genderqueer individual I don’t feel a strong pull toward either gender pole, except for the times when I want to play around with stereotypes. I often feel incredibly dysphoric over my breasts. Even when I bind myself severely, they show. I long to feel more neutral in my body.

FloatingThis is a step in my transition to being more fully myself. Everyone has the right to have their appearance reflect how they see themselves, but the road can be rough. Although my process is not as dramatic as full gender transitioning, I am still discovering that the emotional journey of reshaping my body and identity is just as intense. Who will I be after this? How will I be perceived?

I have no idea what size I will end up after surgery. I’ll be happy with anything smaller. I hope a B or C-cup. I’ve been fantasizing about my new shape, breasts that will disappear under a button-down shirt or look great in a push-up bra.

SacrificeI will have scars. That part bothers me. I like scars on other people because they tell a story of where they have been. I like my stretch marks for the same reason, but I am scared of what these scars will look like on me. Will I look in the mirror and feel mutilated? Will I still be comfortable being naked? I am losing part of my body. That feels strange. The idea of a doctor under my skin feels strange, but I will do it anyway.

I’m a bit sad to say goodbye to who I am right now. I took out my nipple piercings. I gave away all of my bras except the one I’m wearing right now. It gave me pause and I shed a couple of tears, but I am embracing this change. It made me think of a line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which we just saw in New York, “…to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself.”

Mar 222015
 

girlIMG_1846

An older man in high heels and jeans stood before me in line at the grocery store. His dangly earrings flashed against his greying beard in the harsh light as he fished around in his purse for his wallet. He wasn’t trying to be a woman, but he very obviously was comfortable blurring gender presentation in this small rural town. Attitudes are changing. People are starting to accept that gender is a spectrum, not a binary.

I grew up among lesbians when there were only two ways to be: femme or butch. I embraced femme presentation for a long time because I hated the way that butch lesbians just didn’t seem to care about themselves at all. It would be years before I saw the “dapper” style. I wanted to accessorize, wear clothes I felt sexy in, but then I started feeling uncomfortable in my femme gender role. I looked at being butch, but I wasn’t a lesbian and I just wasn’t a masculine woman. I have come to realize that I am both masculine and feminine and I don’t have to choose between them.

When my grandmother and her sisters were growing up people had fewer choices about who they could be and it was hard to change. They were mothers and wives, a secretary, a model, a sex worker. All of them were trapped in lives dictated by those choices and the society they lived in.

My grandma was always some of my best support, but also kind of judgmental too. she wanted me to do the right things, look the right way, know the things I needed to know to be a good woman. I feel that my grandmother found safety by following convention. I believe that I can only feel secure if I follow my own heart and let myself be as big as I can be. I refuse to be trapped in my life in any way. I am choosing my own happiness.

I do not feel like a boy OR a girl most of the time. I consider myself gender queer or gender fluid. Androgynous may be the word that makes the most sense to some people, but that implies a lack of gender. I am encompassing all genders! My gender is wherever I happen to be at the time. My gender is Evoë. My gender is pirate.

I know many people who have transitioned – gone from one gender polarity to another. Right now I do not feel a strong pull toward male or female, but if I do in the future I would consider making that transition. Right now I am becoming more me. Making choices based on what will truly bring happiness and satisfaction to my life strips away the irrelevant, leaving me living my truth. I am becoming more me every day.

I am not rejecting my body (because I love it!), but I am doing what I need to do to feel right in my body. I am exercising and lifting weights. I will have breast reduction surgery in a few weeks. This feels like a big step. I’ve always hated having huge breasts. It hasn’t ever felt right. My cup size is the only thing that makes me feel dysphoric on a regular basis. I feel burdened by my breasts. I don’t want to give up having breasts altogether, but I want small breasts that I can hide or put in sexy little bras depending on my mood. I need my body to reflect how I see myself.

Mostly, I don’t present as any particular gender. I pick clothes that make me happy, a huge mix of things. I hardly wear jewelry at all any more. My hair is buzzed except for a long curly bit in front. I always wanted to be bleached blonde, and I love it! I paint my toenails because I think my toes are ugly. When I feel a lot like a guy, I wear eyeliner and a jock strap. I adore bow ties. Big stompy boots go with everything. I have a lot of fun with presentation because the only person I’m trying to please is me.

Slowly, I am becoming. I am shaping my life to reflect my inner world.

That thought makes me cry because it feels so powerful. And then I laugh because it is simply marvelous. It is freeing to live according to my own compass. I do not care what anyone thinks of me, although judging by the fabulous gentleman in heels at the grocery store, people don’t really care the way my grandmother would have. I like to think that she would still support me. Her love meant the world to me, but ultimately, loving myself means more.

Aug 252014
 

Love the tuxedoWhen I look in the mirror I am usually pretty happy with what I see. I like my body, my hair, my face – but sometimes I get frustrated when what I see doesn’t fit with how I feel inside. I like being female, but there are times when I feel very male. I struggle with how to present myself as a male. How do I express who I am as a man?

I recently fulfilled a long time fantasy to dress as the man I see myself as and it was really pretty much a perfect evening. I had so much fun! My friends got married and held a masquerade ball. (Congrats guys!) The invitations said, “dress to impress” and I immediately thought about wearing a tuxedo. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux. It seems the epitome of men’s fashion, suave and debonair. What could be sexier?

I fetishize tuxedos to such an extent that just picking up the tux gave me a high like participating in a BDSM scene for a couple of hours. I went to the Tuxedo Club in Kirkland and they were amazing. I had a lot of anxiety going in because I worried that it wouldn’t be right. I was there for over an hour while they explained each piece. I love the details – cufflinks, spats, pocket watches and such. They worked with me to make sure that I had exactly what I wanted in a tuxedo. I left feeling exhilarated.

DW and EvoeI wanted the perfect date for this wedding reception, so I invited DW. I got dressed at his house and he was full of useful information, like tips on how to better use a compression vest to bind my breasts. (“Pull together and you’ve got cleavage, pull up and out toward the armpits and you’ve got pecs.”) I am so grateful to DW for all of his graceful instruction and sense of humor. He also looks damn hot in a tux.

We had fun at the party. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, and a few of them didn’t recognize me! I felt amazing: strong, sexy, grounded. DW and I got increasingly friskier, groping each other surreptitiously while everyone focused on the bride and groom cutting the cake. It felt good when his fingers brushed against my clit, but I kept wishing that I had decided to pack so he could feel my cock.

DW and Evoe kissingWe left while the night was still young. We stopped at a grocery store because DW insisted on getting me food I could eat, something that earns him a hundred gold stars in my book. Walking through the store in a tux made the experience real. I was not just going to a costume party, I was in public. It was awesome. I want to own a tux so I can put it on to run to the grocery store. (After 5:00 p.m. of course, as DW pointed out.)

Once we had taken off the tuxedos and I had eaten, we retired to the bedroom. DW has a perfect way about him. I feel comfortable and I trust him, which makes it possible (just barely) for me to submit to him. He brings me right up to the point where I would have to stop. I find myself sitting in uncomfortable places that I would not normally tolerate with anyone else. And then I feel amazing afterward. This man has incredible skill.

Pre masquerade He called me “boy” the entire time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. He urged me to take his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, slapping my face when I didn’t try hard enough. I gagged and tears ran down my face, but I eventually found my rhythm.

He wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the bed. He bent me over the edge and bit my back while I squirmed in protest. He was gone briefly then came back with what I think was a belt. He used it to encourage me to use proper responses to his attentions. It sounded like this: “SMACK. (breath, breath, moan…) Yes Daddy! SMACK. (sucked in breath, exhale) Yes Daddy!” Between the belt and his hand I started to get the hang of it.

Our play got gentler after that. I did more cock sucking. We snuggled. I orgasmed. He is a fabulous kisser. He wove incredible fantasies for me. He rolled me over and fucked me hard, like I had been wanting in a desperate kind of way. I also wanted him to come all over me, so he straddled my hips. We took turns with lube and his cock. He talked dirty to me (cuz I’m a dirty boy). I played with his nipples and really felt like a boy. I could feel my cock and I wanted him to sit on it. I wanted to fuck him with my cock while he spilled on my chest. It was toe-curling, back-arching, super-hot fucking.

Morning strollI had so much fun. I’m still on that high a couple of days later. It’s interesting to me that none of the (sometimes crippling) anxiety I feel in social situations plagued me at the reception. Perhaps it is the power of the tuxedo. Maybe I feel more confident as a boy. Could be that DW puts me at ease. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

I’ve felt great all weekend. I put on the tux again to take some photos with Harold, this time with me on top. Those images turn me on so much. Like crazy horny. I’ve never had that experience with photos of myself before! I don’t even know what to make of it. Renting a tux has been more than a costume for a party, more than cross-dressing, and more than a fetish. It’s been a dream come true.

Jan 262013
 

I have a strong masculine side that I’ve been exploring over the past couple of years. I don’t feel any less feminine, it’s just that sometimes I feel more like a boy. I’ve needed to pay attention to some pretty deep stuff. It’s confusing to acknowledge a piece of me that is so different.

At first I considered more of a butch persona. I appreciate butch women, but I don’t feel like one. At least part of the time I am a man. A gay man, who doesn’t want to be gay. I call him Jaxx.

There is a sexual component. I want to have sex as a man. Strap-on sex becomes more important, but not necessary. Jaxx is not as mature as I am – perhaps late teens or early adulthood. I have all of the sex drive, teen angst, and body image issues.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t look like I imagine myself to appear. I guess no one does, but it’s hard to figure out what kind of boy I am. How do I dress? What are my mannerisms? Who are my role models? How do I fit those things with my current limitations?

For example, I have large breasts – G cups. I have a compression vest to try to minimize my chest, but it still tends to be a problem. I need to layer shirts. I don’t have the chest I want to have as a boy. However, I can use a soft pack to give myself that all important bulge in my pants.

I’m still trying to figure out how I want to look, and I’ve only been brave enough to go out in public once, but I’m starting to own this part of me. I’m slowly feeling more confident as Jaxx. Ultimately I am who I am, regardless of gender. Here are a few photos we recently took of him…

Jaxx

Jaxx lighting up

Paxx Jaxx

 

Click below to see what other people are doing for Sinful Sunday!

Sinful Sunday

Mar 222012
 

Soft PackI’ve always been pretty happy with my vagina. In the last few years though, I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to have a penis. I’ve had a chance to play with dildos that gave me an idea of what it would be like to have an erect penis, but what about the rest of the time? How would it feel to have a bulge in my pants? What if I need to shift my package? What would I do if some cute person felt me up? I finally got a chance to find out when Babeland sent me a Soft Pack recently.

Soft Pack is a very lifelike artificial cock and balls. There are even veins just under the surface of the “skin.” It’s made out of Real-feel Superskin – I’m not sure what that is, but if feels amazing! It is a bit sticky, but everything I read said to dust it with a bit of cornstarch and that seems to help. Just be aware that it will pick up everything it comes in contact with. Which, of course, might be your goal. The magnetic properties of Soft Pack could totally help you find the right person.

Soft Pack peeking out of Evoë's undiesThis packer comes in two skin tones: Vanilla and Mocha. I went with Vanilla, which is paler than even my skin color. You also get four sizes to choose from. Despite being a size queen, I went with small, which is 5.75 inches from base to tip. This is a perfect size for me. It’s somewhat larger than most men would be while soft, big enough to leave a bulge in pants, yet not unwieldy. I don’t want to try to manage too much length, like the 7.75 inch length of the large! Who is that big when flaccid?

The squeeze test is the real indicator – can this cock pass as real when someone feels you up? I think so. It feels amazing through underwear. The size and materials make Soft Pack feel more semi-erect than soft, but totally authentic (and I am qualified to judge). I love playing with my new penis. I like letting it hang out of my pants. I’m pretty much insufferable with a cock. The balls are not really right. They are too small and I want testicles that slide around, but in pants they work just fine. I touch myself constantly.

Evoe with Soft PackSoft Pack sits just right in my boxer briefs – no need for straps, harnesses, or glue. It’s very comfortable. The base of the penis is hollowed out to create a mild suction cup. I haven’t tried strenuous exercise or dancing around, so it may require more for those kinds of activities. I haven’t figured out yet if I hang more to the right or the left. And for some reason, it’s much harder to fish my own dick out of underwear than someone else’s. Soft Pack is more rubbery.

At the price Babeland sells Soft Pack for ($16-$22) it’s worth getting one to play around with, regardless of your gender. Even people who already have penises might want to try out a more dramatic profile. Imagine the glances you’ll get!

Bottom line: Come on, you know you want a Soft Pack.

Grade: A

 

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Jul 312011
 

Evoë as JoeyAfter interviewing so many fabulous people about gender, I’m wanted to see for myself what it felt like to put on another gender. For me, that meant letting my inner boy out to play. My interviewees gave me lots of ideas about how I might go about as a male and the internet filled in more gaps, but I was still obviously a newbie boy.

I went to Value Village to shop for clothes. After much searching, I found a pair of men’s shoes that I could live with, some black and white Vans. Shirts were problematic. I wanted a button-down shirt to help disguise my rather large breasts, but shirts fell into 4 categories: western, stuffy, hawaiian, or lounge. I went with lounge, hoping that I could pull off a hipster look. On a whim, I grabbed a baseball cap on the way out. Harold shook his head and told me I was trying too hard for a boy. Joel scolded me for buying a shirt that wasn’t all natural fibers. He asked me to think about what kind of man I really wanted to be. I felt silly being scolded, but he kind of had a point about putting together a persona deliberately.

Evoë as JoeyWhat does it mean to be a man? I’m not sure. I’m not sure that I’ve gotten past the part where I have a cock, but then again, I know a few guys who’ve never gotten past that part either. Maybe that’s just the kind of guy I am because Harold and I spent a lot of time working with socks, condoms, nylons, rice, and such to make me a reasonably realistic packer. I gotta have a cock.

It got to be time to get ready. I showered, slicked back my hair with men’s gel, and took off all of my girlie jewelry. The hardest thing for me to do was to cut off my fingernails. It’s body modification. I like my long tapered nails. But I squared them all off for this experiment. I put on black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. I wound a wide ace bandage tightly around my chest, trying to flatten my tits. I put a snug athletic top over that, then a plain black tank top. My outer layer consisted of button-down shirt, Harold’s black jeans, Vans, and baseball cap. Ultimately, after all of our scheming, I didn’t pack at first. It was uncomfortable and not noticeable.

Evoë as JoeyHarold took a bunch of pictures – probably the most fun I had. I really hammed it up and played around with the gender stereotypes. Fantastically fun! Then we went to dinner. On the way in the car, Harold and I role-played. It was silly stuff, guy talk. He started calling me Joey. Once we were at the restaurant, I got nervous. What would people think?

I’m not sure if people perceived me as a male, but it was definitely different. Until now, I have been unaware at how deferential people are to me as an attractive female. I didn’t get any of that as a man. Gender biases seem to be very subtle. No one was rude or anything, they just weren’t as…nice. We were just two guys out for some grub. I do believe, however, that the waiter’s demeanor changed ever-so-slightly when Harold ordered something for me. I don’t know if he thought we were gay or looked again and saw that I was female, or if I’m just imagining the reaction.

Evoë as JoeyAfter that, we went to the Center for Sex Positive Culture. I figured it was a safe place to play with gender. Once there, I took off my shoes, pants, and shirt. And I hard packed, meaning that I put my two-way in, with the testicles that Harold had created just for that purpose. I looked like I had an impressive hard on, however, it was hard to walk like a guy and impossible to bend over. At the Center, people either assumed that I was male, or really didn’t care. It was awesome. I got to scene with Harold as a gay male couple. It kind of blows my mind.

Overall I liked experimenting with gender, but I feel like I don’t have enough boy to go on. Sometimes I feel a lot of boy. I wanted to do this gender experimentation to let myself out of the box, but I ended up feeling like I was in a smaller box – from all of me to just boy. I don’t want to be smaller. I can’t see myself going out as a boy very often, maybe occasionally. I’ve been shopping for a packer. Ooooh, and I want side burns!

Mar 052011
 

JoelOne of the many things I love about my relationship with Joel is the way we banter with each other. It’s like a running comedy routine when we’re feeling good. He’s so outrageous. And he loves to play up my reputation as a sex maven. It’s fun. And silly.

But the other night he was giving me shit for calling myself a grrrl. He says it’s pretentious. Yeah, I kinda get that, but it’s how I tend to identify – either as a grrrl or as a boi. “What’s wrong with just being a girl or a boy?” he says, “Why do you have to make it complicated? I’m a traditionalist, you are either a girl or a boy. That’s it.” Again, I see where he’s coming from, but I disagree.

And isn’t this the same man who used to cross-dress? Oh yes, still either a boy or a girl, no in-between, right?

I try to explain to him about finding myself between genders, outside of society’s gender conventions. I’m a grrrl most of the time. I love my femme aspects, my female body parts, but I don’t buy into the “rules” about how a girl should behave or who she can be. For me grrrl is like girl, but minus the guilt and add some kick-ass. It makes me happy. Then sometimes, I am a boi. I don’t give up my femme attributes, but I take on masculine mannerisms, energy, and thought processes. I’m gender queer.

EvoëI am very clearly physically female, but I get to define my gender. Other people may use the same terms to mean something else or different terms to describe the same thing. I’m not trying to be pretentious. I am claiming my right to express my identity in just the right way for me.

So Joel says, “What, I can just make up a word for when I’m a boy that feels more like a girl? Fine. Then I’m a birl!” Yes, exactly. He starts to laugh, “Then I can be burly! That adds new meaning.” I tell him to spell it B-I-R-L-Y. It’s a great new word for me, although I’m sure people already use it.

I’m highly amused. I’m a grrrl and my partners are a boi and a birl. I get the absurdity even while feeling strongly about gender identity. I don’t expect other people to use my terms, they are just for me. But I think everyone should shape language to help them define themselves. Who are you?