I hate my therapist. He’s a guy, he’s never gone through second puberty. He thinks I should wear skirts and dresses and tights and makeup and all that crap just to “accept the female me” well fuck that. It wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t also convinced my crazy mom. Bye bye gym shorts, hello sports bras.
Like a lot of guys, when the genderwave hit I was inconsolable. A lifetime of periods and boobs and everything else that came with womanhood seemed intimidating, and I spent a few weeks locked in my room morning my penis. The first time I put on a pair of panties I really felt like I’d lost something. Looking at the flat swath of fabric stretching across my crotch and disappearing between my legs, wrapping around and hanging off my wide hips, and hugging my now fleshy butt made me feel dainty and weak, and that’s because I was.