Progress in Pink

That’s progress – isn’t it?

This is mostly a transcript of a conversation I recorded at my T-club a while ago. There’s the occasional comment so it doesn’t flow perfectly. But it’s got some thoughts I want to share about how I’m going being a girl, sorry, correction, at my age, I’m a woman as far as I present to the world. I’ve got a job, a flat, friends. I’m doing ok.

Progress in Pink
That’s still progress – isn’t it?

The first lesson I learnt was ‘I am not alone’! WOW.

I had been dressing up for a while – well over a year - mostly panties and my big sister’s heels and sockettes. I hadn’t gone as far as a bra – what was the point at the age of 11 – or a skirt or dress. Although I was tempted.
Then I looked up ‘boys pretending to be girls’ or something of that sort. What a revelation.

I was not the only one. WOW. BIG big Enormous WOW. I wasn’t a freak!!

The second lesson was ‘Being different can HURT’!!

There are some other worthwhile lessons – but getting through enough of life to learn them – that ain’t nice.

But ……. ….. and some more …… eventually. ……… If you’re brave and determined and there is no other way to get there, eventually you learn some lessons that mean something.

My name’s Martine – even though I’m mostly identified as a boy called Nick. I’m nearly 20 now.

I like – no, I love to wear panties and dresses. I’ve begun to wear a bra – because I’m tall enough that for a girl of my age a bra is expected. I’ve looked – or rather watched – and the percentage of girls my age without visible boobage is low. Si I conform. Firmly. That is to say, the boobage I apply, attach, use for my bra is sadly unrealistic.

How did this start? When? Where? Why?

Gradually. At home, in my big sister’s room. That’s more difficult – so I can’t really answer.

Do I have to give more detail?

My friend Carol has a cousin Janet/(John) who used to be a boy. She’s a few years older, about 20 and at college now. They’ve talked and Janet says eventually you HAVE to tell someone. First time, it’s often a friend – later is has to be some sort of professional who authorises some of the changes I will want.

Janet has given me quite a lot of info – that I don’t think I could have learnt anywhere else. One of the things I’ve learnt is how many different points of view – and how many deeply-felt arguments exist among a minority of a minority.

I don’t think anyone – however hetero or cis or patriarchal they may be – will argue that there are people out there who are NOT hetero, who are NOT cis and who don’t accept every patriarchal diktat.

Moving on, there can be few who will deny that there are ‘quite a lot of non-hetero ie homosexual and bisexual ‘LG&B’’ while there are fewer who are not-cis ie gender-discrepant ‘Trans or Inter or Questioning to list just a very few sub-sub-categories.’ Some may prefer that there should be NONE but whether by nature, nurture, gene, grooming or mere deviance – there are ‘people who are not like them’.

‘Not like them’ – what a load of nastiness can be poured out by ‘right-thinking people’ on ‘those who are different.’

Here’s a confession – I’m like ‘them’ some of the time.

And yet I am definitely ‘different’ in some aspects of my actions and behaviours.

I’m nearly 20 now – I have learnt quite a lot. Perhaps like Mark Twain, I’d say that my parents have learnt too.

They’re not happy with the route I’ve gone. You can’t hide everything for ever. Mum knew first – finding panties in the wash for a second time was a bit obvious. Increasingly girly or intended-to-be-androgynous clothing … ‘it all added up’.

They sat me down one evening and made their views quite clear. About two years ago after I’d left school and was thinking about college or university. As things happened, I went for an apprentice-type job with a near-neighbour who ran an electrician / house-repair business.

Dad began, ‘Kid, we’re not deaf, blind, stupid or iggerant. Parents always know more than their children want them to know. Yeah – not always accurately but, what the heck. Being blunt, you’re a bit of a girl, aren’t you. And so we’ve been watching, reading, learning, talking. We KNOW this. And the ugly – no, AN ugly truth is that this path you’re going down is dangerous. There’s some really nasty people out there, and they HATE what you’re doing. Don’t know why. A bloke dressing up is not much of a threat to institutionalised masculinity – but They don’t do logic. Abuse and hate never bother with logic. You’re not going to stop wearing what you choose. In its way, it’s an addiction too – and addicts rarely stop until some appalling change of life occurs. We don’t want anything drastic for you. We’d PREFER it if you were more ordinary – but you aren’t. We’ve read about some of the statistics. And above all, we want a live child than an unhappy boy. So, you always have our love, and within limits, you have our understanding and our support too.’

My eyebrows had gradually lifted up and up and down and up in horror, relief and all those other emotions.

My mother took a turn. ‘Like Dad said, we’ll try to understand and support and all that as much as we can. But you need to do your bit too. For one, you dress badly. You dress as a boy might who wants to be a bit girlish. You get the colour-matching wrong, that makes you obvious. You know nothing about makeup – mind you, that’s common for many teenage girls. We’re going to have to work through Girl-basic until you look as ordinary as possible. Point Two – is how you behave. Walking is the most obvious. A genuine girl can walk in big strides – but you mustn’t. There’s other things too. Mostly, you sit with your legs together – but not always. Girls don’t flash their panties – all those rules that are learnt in childhood – they’re not inbuilt for you. They will be – and then we’ll feel that you are safer. And you may well be safer too. And to restate – we want you to be safe and to move forward with your life. We’ll support you as much as we can. Yes.”

I sat, somewhere between stunned, shocked and silent. “Erm…”
A moment or two later I managed to get to ‘I never realized … I never thought .. I just …”

Dad smirked. “Yes – Kiddo. Exactly so. And now it’s time we all got together and did some of that realizing and thinking and even planning. Yes. So, we’ll talk some more … soon. And later, your mother’s going shopping with you.”

Mum smirked too as she added ‘Nothing too much … to start with we’ll sit in the coffee bar and take notes of what you like to see no girls. What you think suits you and so on. And taking notes. Research helps with Prevention of PPP.”

That was the real beginning. Within a year, I had probably reached 60 or 70% girl. Mr Williams was amazingly reasonable. He listened enough to my mum to go with ‘I don’t really understand but I too can support’.

So I’ve grown my hair out a bit more. When I have a ponytail, it’s a neat girl-style high up and flippy instead of a boy’s style at the neck. I go to clients and I dress in the weekends and evenings not the daytime. As a leccy [electrician], I need to bend and twist, go up ladders – so NO skirts, panty-flash or silliness like that. I have two sets of overalls, one in grey so it doesn’t show too much dirt – and my favourite in pink

At work, I’m called Martie by everyone - sometimes ‘smartie’ of course. The overalls cover me from top to toe – so I’m happy that boobage is pretty irrelevant as I don’t have any. I wear a touch of makeup to help prove who I am.

Outside work – at home and on the town, I do dress so much better after getting help from Mum.

What I learnt from her was good but not truly my style – she is some 25 years older than me after all. But there was help from the local T-group which I had joined before. But after ‘that night’ mum sometimes came along and I was a much more dedicated attendee. Some of the other girls were really helpful. And, eventually, one of their sisters – yes a real girl – became one of my best friends.

Hazel, for t’was thus named, was a lovely girl. Not beautiful, but just nice. All the obvious girly things, curve, hair, boobage, leggage, but mostly just a nice girl. Pleasant, content rather than mega-happy. On the side of well-figured rather than solid, let alone plump. She was quiet yet determined. This came out most clearly in wanting her sister-brother to be ordinary and competent as a girl. And so she wanted others of as to do ‘girl’ well. That included me. I suppose that she did give a bit more time to those of us who could pass adequately.

The group as a whole was a bit like that. It encouraged everyone to dress as they liked – but the risk of being outed was so well-known that those who were at risk were. Let’s say, not encouraged so much.

I’m middle, middle, middle, middle in lots of ways. For those who have specific views – I am white, English, well-educated, but – and none of those American jokes about my butt – I just want to be ordinary, under-the-hate-seeking radar.

If you’re T in any way (yes there’s so MANY slightly different labels that sometimes just the T should be enough) then if your go down any part of the more-than-dressing route then that means chemistry.

Sorry – a digression – how can ANY of the right-thinking people believe that anyone who wasn’t in some significant distress allow life-changing interventions in their body unless they saw no other alternative.

I consider myself VERY fortunate. I’m not big, bulky, hairy, too tall. I’m shortish for a male, thin. With my long hair – which I do keep much tidier than the average long-haired youth – maybe you’d think ‘girl’ with a quick glance.

I do wear more colour and nicer materials than the usual boy-drab of black, brown, boringness allocated to the male. That’s my choice.

Fortunately I'm not taking any hormones or chemicals … well I have no intention of taking hormones unless it’s recommended. I have no intention of removing my little used dangler. I’ve learnt the word asexual – I don’t think that’s exactly the word for me – but I’m not a horny goat. I don’t think about sex all the time, most of the time, often, daily, rarely ‘tick the box which applies’, never.

I do wear boob-packers, chickens, or whatever you call them. I like wearing a bra - it's the most feminine thing a girl can wear apart from a tampon. Yuk. That's how much not-girl I am. I especially like seeing that double-curve just below my eyeline. That's how much not-boy I am.

One new thing, at first I thought I was being stupid, but I’ve started going on line talking to other trans girls. It’s not been stupid at all. Although some of the chat has been weird. Most of them are just normal persons, girls just like me, trying to come to terms with it all and get on with life. Like me being trans is just a part of their lives and they’ve got families, schools, weekend jobs or whatever to deal with that altogether add up to the biggest part of their lives.

The weird bit comes from, er, ‘those who are also trans but different’. There are some who seems to define themselves purely in terms of being trans like there’s nothing else in their lives. They keep telling me about things I should be doing. I must go on hormones. I must get bigger breast-forms. I must hate the patriarchy. I must hate ‘mere cross-dressers who don’t have commitment’. So aggressive. The implication seems to be if I don’t go with them I’m not really trans and don’t belong in what they refer to as the real trans community.”

Is it really so stupid to believe that those who are in any way on the T-spectrum shouldn’t work together? I don’t know why this sub-group actively works against other Ts (and actually there’s more than one of these non-fitting subsets). It's like a heroin addict disapproving of those who smoke dope as not being sufficiently addicted.

I was talking about this with Hazel and her friend, Fern.

“I take it you don’t want to do some of those things.”

“No I don’t, and if that means I don’t belong in the trans community then I don’t want to belong there either.”

“There is no such thing as the ‘typical’ trans girl, any more than there is the cis girl. You are you, Alice, not a copy of some stereotype. See the message on the wall? That was written by a girl of about your age ten or twelve years ago concerning the whole LGBT+ community. Long before the TIQ-etc part of LGBT+ had been built. It says it all rather nicely really. Everyone is a first rate copy of themselves and shouldn’t try to be a second rate copy of someone else. Here take a copy and read it now. It’s only short.”

I’m a want-to-be.
Who should I be?
Can’t you tell?
Then – what the Hell -
I’ll keep on being me.
A B C D E
FU – if you won’t see.

Fern giggled – ‘short but blunt.’ And snapped a picture on her phone.