Apparently now that it is 2017 we are supposed to have a “dadsona” in addition to our fursonae, dragonsonae, witchsonae, and all our other various alternate cartoon identities. Thanks, Internet. Thanks for that.
Between accidentally discovering that iOS categorizes me as six different people, and looking at the eight year old photos of me trying to be SEXXXY on my dusty FetLife account, I am realizing that I have changed a lot in the past decade. I can’t remember when I went on hormones offhand; I think it was around twelve years ago? They’ve been good to me. I can barely recognize that gangly barely-not-a-boy with the tiniest beginnings of titties.
A few years of burlesque and pole dance class haven’t hurt that either. There are some amazingly dubious fashion choices on display in some of these old photos I’m looking at. Short hair? Really, 2005 me? And that coat? But, well, you gotta make mistakes before you can learn from them. I’ve learnt how to present myself a lot better, both in clothing and in carriage.
I’m someone else now. Will I still look like this person, but a little older, another decade from now? Who knows. Hopefully I’ll at least not look like a corpse just yet. Time to have some fun before this hot body rots off my bones.
Today I discovered that iOS Photos thinks I am six people.
Mostly it thinks I’m this lady.
But sometimes it thinks I’m this woman. And damn I like being her a lot more. She’s hot.
2017 goals: Make Photos think I’m that lady more than a mere 1/7 of the time.
When the king died, the land died with him.
All the color went out of everything.
The Queen tried her best to keep it safe
But in the end all she could do was let it lie fallow. The peasants had gone for more colorful climes long ago. The stray sheep had grown too unruly to be worth keeping.
Nothing much happened.
Then it didn’t happen again.
This went on for quite some time.
One day, a young dragon came to the ruins of the castle. She was looking for a place to make her lair, and she had hopes this land would be it.
Remote. Quiet. Solitary. These were all things that suited her. And that herd of feral sheep would do just fine for her meager appetite.
Soon, she had a room high in a turret all tidied up. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her.
I said I wasn’t going to draw my own stuff for this, but this morning I had an idea for a little fairy tale that’s a metaphor for how my transition involved me rebuilding my personality from the inside out. And “ruined fairy tale castle” was what came to mind when I looked at the theme I chose for today.
Will I draw the rest? Will I figure out how much more story it needs and finish it? Who knows.
Illustrator, 1:30. Lots of use of a couple of ‘brick’ art brushes and the ‘roughen’ filter so I didn’t have to draw every little detail.
I was looking through my old site from 199x this evening and found this. It’s from back when I was a boy. I was totally not thinking about gender stuff. Totally. I did not ever have a raccoon character who was ‘me’, and I especially didn’t have one who I was playing on Furrymuck a whole year before I started playing Peganthyrus, the black dragon. I totally hadn’t started painting my nails back then and totally didn’t think orange was one of the better colors I had.
Medium: probably pen and ink, colored with some mixture of Deluxe Paint and ImageFX on my Amiga.
In the past year, I've had to stop sleeping on my stomach. Because my breasts are now big enough that it hurts to sleep on them.
Thank you for these fabulous titty genes, Mom.
A while back – I think something like a year ago, maybe longer – I got pointed to a call for submissions for an academic journal. The “Transgender Studies Quarterly” was doing an issue called “Tranimalities”, themed around, well, honestly, teh furreh. And even teh postfurreh.
So on a whim I submitted a short B&W comic Nick and I had done a while back for the Anthrocon conbook. I gave it a pseudo-academic title. They accepted it.
And I got my contributor copy today.
I briefly flipped through it after opening the package. Holy cow is it full of academia. I will need to sit down with a stiff drink before trying to actually read most of the articles in this thing.
If you want a physical copy of this sucker, you can order one here.
If you’re just interested in my comic, it’s right here on my site.
I got a comic about a catgirl turning into a robot spider into a serious academic journal. I can’t help but feel like this means I am winning at life.
For a long time, I’ve been pretty happy to be a no-op transwoman. I wore the label “dickgirl” with pride, eventually shifting to “pricklady” as I felt I became more grown-up and dignified. But yesterday, a switch flipped. Suddenly I’m seriously contemplating getting genital surgery.
I feel like it’s not so much that my personal, private performance of a female gender requires me to be able to easily put three penises inside me at once. That’s a part of it – if I could wave a magic wand and swap bits, I’d certainly do it and enjoy the hell out of finally being able to have vaginal sex – but that’s not what made me finally decide. No, what made me finally decide to do something about my genitals is the day in, day out hassle of tucking. I’ve worked hard to have the body I do. I’ve poured a lot of hormones into it, I’ve learnt how to dress it nicely, I exercise regularly to keep it in good shape. I have a pretty thing I want to show off, and I’m tired of always having to worry, somewhere in the back of my mind, if the tape on my loins is going to come unstuck and let my cock come flopping out to make a huge misgendering bulge in my skirt. And even when I’m not showing myself off? Hell, take right now – I’ve got to get dressed for yoga class soon, which pretty much involves a top, leggings, and tape. And right now my loins are tender from being tightly tucked through most of a long, sweaty day out the day before yesterday; there’s a spot the tape goes on that got the top layer of skin pulled off, and is too tender to tape. Am I going to fiddle with a different arrangement? Make do with some tight underwear? Or just blow it off? I’d rather just get up, pull on a blouse and leggings, and go. I loved what getting my facial hair removed did for the amount of hassle involved in getting ready to leaving the house, and now I want to remove the next hassle.
It feels kind of superficial when I put it like that, but I mentioned this in much briefer form on Twitter and instantly had pretty much all my post-op MtF acquaintances chiming in and saying “yeah that was most of it for me too”. I’m at a point where people are routinely surprised when I mention I’m trans, but I’m tired of having to be constantly AWARE of my genitals.
So now I need to start researching. Who do I want to sculpt my flesh into a new configuration? What kind of options do I have? How much is it gonna cost me? Can I get insurance to pay for it? Do I want to try to do any deliberate artistic choices in the shaping of my new genitals? This is gonna be so much hassle. But in the long run it’ll hopefully be a major reduction in the amount of hassle in my life, when I can get up in the morning and not give a flying shit about whether or not my dick is gonna poke out of my clothes. Maybe this is my subconscious asking for the biggest birthday present ever; I did have a birthday two weeks ago, after all.
I really thought I’d never come to this point, that I’d be happy being a pricklady until such time as I could have hot-swappable genitals. But I guess the back of my head had other ideas.
It is immensely satisfying to give in to a brief urge to dress like a boy and discover that I just don't pass as one very easily any more. I can see every single little flaw in my feminine presentation all too well, but a half-assed attempt to go the other way really highlights how far I've come. I'd have to go get something to bind with, wrap it tight enough to impair breathing, and go buy some new clothes, as everything I own now codes for “girl”.