Things I have done (which I thought I'd never do) since having an out of control sex drive.

I have paid for expensive fetish porn. Several times. I had to get it Right Now.

I have jerked off in the toilets at work. More than once a day. It's cramped and uncomfortable but I need it too badly to wait.

I have done sex things with completely unsuitable people, just because it was hot. And I feel no remorse. I'll do it again.

I harass my boyfriend for sex morning, afternoon and night when he is clearly not horny. It causes tension in our relationship but I can't stop.

I have stayed up till 4am some weeknights, watching porn, getting myself off over and over again. The urge just won't go away.

I heavily resented an ex partner when they said no to casual sex, just because I needed it so damn much.

I have placed adverts on hookup websites.

I have never paid for sex, but I came very close when I was drunk. And I know I probably will one day. That's the final frontier.

ETA: Actually no, that last one is a lie - I have paid for sex. When he was unemployed, I regularly paid my boyfriend £20 cash to blow me, when he was tired and not in the mood.

I need a fuckbuddy so badly. I'm going fucking mental.

One of the guys at work constantly makes jokes about guys with small cocks. We film porn, so we see a lot of dicks (often in their flaccid state too), and he finds a great amount of humour in sneeringly referring to 'micro cocks'.
He's also the kind of person who, having noticed I have tiny hands and feet, decided I probably have a small cock too. When I (obviously) didn't rebutt it with the claim that my cock is in fact massive, he made daily jokes about my 'micro cock' before I told him to knock it the fuck off. But he still makes jokes about cock size in general.

I know this is normal behaviour for a slightly arrogant straight guy who gets kicks from being acerbic. And I'd have no right to tell him what he can and can't make jokes about, if it's not directed at me personally. But it does make me feel increasingly uncomfortable.

My feelings about my own body - more specifically my new, testosterone enlarged sex organ, are all over the place. Some days I'm on top of the world; I love what I've got and how I can use it - I'm a total stud. But some days I do feel like a 'micro cock' freak, like I don't measure up, will never be able to live normally, and if the people around me knew what I had, they'd never respect me as a man again.

I keep wondering if men with the actual micro penis medical condition feel the same. Is it worse for them, since they don't have the 'excuse' of being trans? Or is it easier, because at least they have testicles and know through and through that they were born male? Some of their cocks are probably around the same size as mine. And then there's guys who don't even have a related medical condition, they just have a pretty small dick. It must be a bit of an issue for them as well. I've been thinking about it more and more as my identity has been shifting from 'FTM' to 'boy' to 'trans man' to simply 'man'.

We generally don't know what's in the pants of everyone around us, the people we love, the people we respect, the people we work with. Anyone making jokes about small cocks will never really know who they're hurting, and how much.

So I've been trying a couple of slightly different types/doses of testosterone - Sustanon 250 vs my usual Sustanon 100. They don't feel wildly different to me, bar a slight increase in moodiness and the usual constant horniness... but my boyfriend, being of the scientific nature, wants more control over the whole thing.

Boyfriend: What would be handy is a home T testing kit, so i can monitor your levels over the week from each of them... but i think such a thing would be expensive or does not exist
Me: Even dr Curtis hasnt got the equipment to test levels
Boyfriend: and i think 'wanks per day' is too grainy to be of any use

Before I started testosterone, I had heard so many warnings about how the hormones would make it hard to control my anger, and I might get the trans equivalent of 'roid rage'. It was one of the things that made me put off T, until I really couldn't deal with being me then anymore.
Did I want to risk a life with even more anger management problems than I already had, or should I just carry on the way I was, crying with emotional frustration and self hate every day?
It took me a while in therapy to figure out that no matter what the potential side effects, I was prepared to risk it if it meant I would become more physically masculine.

The thing was, T really suited me. Since my first injection, my headspace and general quality of life has improved so drastically, it's almost beyond belief. For a start, not being close to tears the whole time was a massive improvement on the usual state of affairs. But complementing this was my new job, which made my life so much more relaxed and fun. The last few months, there has been very little stress to exacerbate whatever anger lies beneath my usual emotional surface.

On Friday, my bosses broke the news to me that they were, effectively, doubling my workload. I was massively pissed at the way this was slyly shoved onto me in the same meeting that also gave me a small annual payrise... leaving me without bargaining space for a decent wage increase reflecting the amount of work and stress involved.

So yeah, I was angry. And while I was trying to be philosophical about it, and I knew I'd get over it - I had to get that fury out of my system. So I ranted and growled at the state of affairs, grumbling to G & A the straight editors about what assholes our bosses are to have done such a thing. All my life, I've been used to girls, and gay guys, who will listen and sympathise, and support you all you want. But there's only so much sympathy your average straight guy can give before they start to try and 'cheer you up'. By taking the piss.

So the straight guys wound me up, by making accusational bullshit jokes about my use (or rather, misuse) of time at work. And I, in turn, got angry, and pointed out that they don't have the same pressures, they get to doss around half the day, and they have no idea (NO idea) how much work is involved in running paysites. At which they jibed back at me and at that point I just saw red.

All I really remember is losing my temper at some comment, and shouting my head off. I yelled and swore and lashed out and hurled things across the room, not giving a shit who or what they hit. At one point my boss came in, wanting to know why I was yelling so loudly. But as soon as I realised I was out of control, I stopped, and sunk into silent fuming, not wanting to say or do anything I'd regret... because I was really fucking close to the edge.

I was more angry than I can remember being in a very long time, but in a very visceral, physical, violent way - where in another situation I could have flown into a rage and punched someone black and blue. I literally felt my hormones gripping my entire emotions and brain, urging me to hit someone, go mental, break things. My lack of self control, which I was having to fight against so hard, scared the shit out of me.

I still don't really know how to deal with this brutal, sudden, violent anger. I'm not an angry person, I'm not cut out for it. I've heard all the cliché suggestions therapists and well meaning pals harp on about - oh, hit a pillow, scream into the duvet, go for a run. These techniques pale when faced with this full frontal testosterone powered rage that's suddenly sprung on me.
When I feel that fury, especially when trapped at work, with guys winding me up, it scares me. I hate losing control of myself in that way. The only way I can keep a lid on it is by cutting off all communication and sight with the people around me and focusing on calming the fuck down. But I don't know how to do this without it being interpreted as my being 'in a mood' - when really I'm just trying to find some peace in my own head when my mind is screaming for me to hurt someone else... or else hurt myself.

I know all this isn't strictly related to transitioning, and I know everyone feels crazy angry once in a while, but it's another thing altogether when you have these violent, new hormones rushing round your body intensifying that one emotion (and numbing most others). I just need to get it out. So yeah. I has a GRRRRRR.

All day yesterday, I had ants in my pants thinking about that evening. The nervous fear of what G would now think of me was jostling with the hope and anticipation of our friendship becoming more open on a deeper level. I knew everything would be fine in the end, but since he had no experience with trans people or issues, I was steeling myself for some potentially offensive questions.

After what seemed like an eternity, I found myself in the restaurant we'd agreed to meet in for drinks. I then realised this was going to be daunting on every level, even down to choosing seats. I didn't want to sit too close to him on a bench in case he got the wrong message about my proximity while struggling not to convert me into female in his head. I didn't want to talk to him from across a table because there was no way I was going to be able to explain intimate trans issues at any distance over the general noise of the room. And I couldn't sit near anyone else, because unless I was going to spend the whole evening muttering into his ear, he was going to be way too self conscious about the type of conversation this was, knowing someone else might overhear.

Just as he arrived, I thankfully noticed a small corner table, and we sat down on the benches, not saying anything at first, unsure of how to kick it off. I looked down, sipping my Bloody Mary, trying to distract myself from how dry my mouth was becoming as I silently grasped for words. G cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry I just sprung that on you yesterday. I meant to be more subtle and actually ask you about it."

I stirred my drink, thankful that his opening gambit was conciliatory, not accusational. "Don't worry, I wasn't offended... I was just shocked, that's all. Do you mind telling me how you found out?"

A shadow of doubt flicked across G's face as he decided whether to divulge this information. Clearly someone else was involved and he probably didn't want to drag them into it too. Playground rules never really die.

I looked him in the eye. "Look, G, I'm not angry. These things happen. You're my friend, and you know now, and I just want to be open with you. But please tell me where this came from."

( The whole story... )

It was inevitable really... one of my close friends at work found out I was trans.

My workmate, editorG, had been dropping hints on Friday that there was something he wanted to talk to me about. We didn't get a moment to chat until this morning, when he came and sat by my desk and fidgeted, looking at me searchingly.

"So, not going to shave off that beard you're growing then?" he enquired easily.

I hadn't been aware at that moment that I'd been lovingly stroking my hard-earned 2 week old facial hair. "Yeah", I smiled, "My boyfriend thinks it's sexy so I don't think I'll get rid of it."

"I know the real reason you won't shave your beard."

I looked at G, confused. His tone was heavy with meaning. I said something about liking the way it looks on me, but I could feel his gaze on me, and my voice faltered. I cast a nervous glance over at editorA, thankfully oblivious with his headphones on.

"No, i know the real reason, and you don't know i know this, but i do." G stated, flatly.

I became aware of a weird silent buzzing in my ears. The moment felt surreal, stretched into infinity. Was this really happening?
"I don't know what you're referring to..." I mumbled, still hoping it must be something, anything else, and unwilling to be the first to speak the T word, just in case. We were both keeping up the pretense of a quiet, casual conversation, as if discussing how our weekends had gone.

"There's something about yourself which you haven't told me."

That was his cards laid on the table. This was it, a moment beyond my control which I'd been anticipating and dreading since I made the decision not to tell people. This was really happening, right here, right now.
I felt a burning shade of crimson wash over my face as I turned quickly away from him, and concentrated very hard on the photographs on my screen. A naked man's feet in bondage. I took these pictures. I took these. Feet. Naked. Bondage.

He pressed on. "I think you know what I'm talking about."

The pretense was up. I did indeed know what he was talking about.
My heart pounding, my eyes flicked over to editorA again, and I put my hand on G's arm. "Please. Just keep it quiet. How did you find out?"

...to be continued when we go for a drink tomorrow and talk. It's going to be ok. It's all going to be ok.

Recently, I've really relaxed more about this idea that people from work will 'find out' - my old life as a 'girl' (or rather, not a man) seems to be separate enough from my current one that there's not a massive risk of people I know now just randomly coming across the information.

But today, were it not for the sensitivity and intelligence of the kind of people I've been lucky enough to be friends with over the years, I would probably have been outed.

I was out for lunch with a guy from work, who like the rest of the guys there, has no idea about my trans status. While we were in the shop, a friend of mine I knew from the fetish scene a few years ago walked in - and recognised me. Now, bear in mind this wasn't a close friend, nor was she someone I'd had intimate discussions with about the ins and outs of being trans. She would only have heard about my transition on the general scene grapevine.
On the outside, I was confident and happy to see her - inside I was paralysed, like a rabbit in headlights. I thought for sure she would call me the wrong name, comment on my dramatically changed voice, ask about my surgery last year, or express shock and surprise that I've grown a little beard.

I should have had more faith in how damn cool some of my friends and acquaintances are. She did nothing of the sort. She asked how I was, where was I working, and told me a bit about what she was getting up to.
She might have noticed I didn't immediately and politely introduce her to the guy I was with (which was in case she told him how she knew me, and used the wrong pronoun). She may have observed how shifty and nervous I probably looked, thinking today was going to be the day I would have a lot of explaining to do.
But the lovely girl just breezed through all that, didn't even blink at my voice or beard, and acted as though my new appearance was the most natural thing in the world.

Thank fuck for amazing mates. If she reads this, you know who you are, and thankyou. You're what we trans people call a Really Good Ally. Speaking of allies, some people may have noticed the usual LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bi, and Trans) acronym is now sometimes (in particularly progressive spaces!) LGBTIQA (Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans, Intersex, Questioning/Queer and Ally). See, that's how important allies are to us. And best of all, anyone can be one, and get in on our acronyms and Pride Parades. You don't even have to be queer. You lucky bastards.

For more on how to be a good ally, read How To Respect A TS Person because it's really sound.

Being on testosterone for 6 months has changed my life. I swear to god, I never knew what it was to feel truly sane before this miracle drug.

When I was still having... er... my 'Breaks from Masculinity' as The Boyfriend used to call my periods, I used to go completely crazy every time.
I'd be feeling totally out of control, thinking everything was incredibly bleak and pointless and that I'd somehow been deluding myself for the rest of the month. Losing my temper, weeping nonstop for hours, snapping at loved ones and then crying about that, and generally feeling ugly and mean and disgusting and full of self loathing.
I was just completely at the mercy of my emotions for 2 weeks out of 4, tossed this way and that between crying and craziness like a plastic bag being blown about in the wind.

But in November, all that was suddenly gone in one fell swoop. I stopped bleeding, and with the blood went the insanity. I had no idea how bad it really was until it was gone. For the first time in my life, I felt completely in control of myself, master of my own emotions. I stopped crying for no reason, which used to happen constantly - now I don't cry at all, ever (which, incidentally, isn't always good).
I actually feel like this is life, this is real, and that I am sane, and LIVING, living in the world as it was meant to be.

I've got a lot more sympathy and patience for women now, when they cry or lose it a bit. I know how it feels, first hand - most men don't. Men born men will never truly be able to appreciate just how lucky they are, to be (for the most part) masters of their own emotions, 24/7.
Boys - be patient when girls seem to be going crazy. It's hard enough for them as it is.

The Boyfriend and I recently celebrated the beginning of our 9th year together.

I just remembered, when things were starting to get serious a year or so into our relationship, an exchange something like this took place:

Me: "Do you think you'd still love me if I put on a lot of weight?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Would you stay with me if I was in a wheelchair?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Would you still want to be with me if I was in an accident or something, and my face and body were all damaged, and I wasn't pretty any more?"
Him: "Yes. I love you because you're you - not for what you look like."

I'm sure conversations like this take place in many, many relationships.

But I can't believe I found someone who was actually telling the truth when he said he would love me no matter what happened. I am so fucking lucky.

As people who followed my old LJ will know, I started a new job last year.

When I went for my interview at this company, I was passing* okay, but by no means 100% - I was pre-T, and very androgynous looking. Short, smooth skinned, and still curvy. I brought up being trans in the first minute, because I didn't want it being the elephant in the room if the bosses were sat there thinking they were talking to a girl with a boy's name. They were fine with it, said they had no idea of the protocol in this kind of situation but did I want them to say anything to the rest of the staff on my behalf? I said no, just leave it - I'll play it by ear. If anyone asks, I'll talk to them.

The morning I started, I introduced myself to everyone, in my lowest pitched voice, with my legal male name. I fully expected to have to explain myself at every turn. I expected people to ask me about my lack of beard, and short stature. I truly thought at least one of the gay guys there would notice the distinctly wider than normal butt, or see how small my hands and feet are.

It turns out, men are blissfully unobservant. None of the guys I work with (not including the bosses) challenged my gender, I just quietly blended in and went about my business there being treated as an equal, as a man. The one who read me** was the only girl in the company, who seamlessly and gracefully continued to use all the right pronouns and never mentioned anything in front of the others. I could tell she knew, and after a week I told her, and she was incredibly cool about being the issue being totally private, and that was it. No big dramas, no overheard gossip, no pronoun training. Just me, as me.

I have been here almost 10 months now, and for the first 5 months, until I went on T and my voice broke, not once did I use my 'natural' speaking voice at work, only the carefully cultivated deeper voice. For 10 months, I've been standing awkwardly sideways when bending to use the watercooler, so people don't have a rear on view of me and observe my real shape under my just-baggy-enough clothes. (Genetic men don't have 36" hips and a 26" waist, no matter how flat their chests are.) For 10 months, I've been rapidly changing the subject whenever facial hair comes up, so nobody thinks to look at mine and notice it is baby soft and barely there.

But either all this has had the desired effect of helping me pass, or I just got way too paranoid about the extent to which other people really *look* at you. Despite the changes T has wrought, I still worry about the way I sit, stand, bend, walk and go for a piss... but I don't think people who've known me only as male for this long are suddenly going to guess I was once female, no matter how wide my hips are.

Because the only comments forthcoming have been astonishment that I'm 27 ("I thought you were about 17!"), and good natured ribbing about being my height and demeanour. Being in the porn industry, cocks come up in conversation a lot, and I've had to wriggle out of demands to know how big my dick is and whether it's pierced. The temporary glow of being truly being considered and talked to as one of the boys (penis and all), overrides the inevitable dysphoria that comes later with this banter. It feels so right. I am a man.

I've been reading and thinking a lot recently about whether people can truly see me as a man, a man like any other man, if they know my gender history. I used to think that people who accepted me as trans were seeing me as a man, but that was before I experienced the incredible difference in the interactions I have with those who don't know.
I've grown especially close to a couple of straight guys from work - we get on brilliantly, chat all day long together, have a laugh over daily lunches and stuff. I had no idea until recently what this would mean to me. These (and the rest of the office) are the first people who I have ever been in close proximity to on a daily basis who actually know me as me, as a man and only a man... relationships untainted by the prejudices of perceptions of my past gender.

What I really mean to say is that I value all this too much to risk losing it before I'm ready. If I want to disclose to someone, I want it to be because I choose to, not because I was found out by someone idly googling for the handle I chat under/my email address, and stumbling across my LJ full of trans talk.
On my Facebook (which includes work people), I have deleted comments from friends about my surgery and hormones, and avoided trans related groups and stuff. On my Myspace, I've taken off all the gender blurb. My other LJ *was* the only place any public trans clues remained - but I recently made it all friends only and un-joined all trans communities because it was getting too risky for comfort.

So here it is, my gender related LJ. I may or may not post stuff about trans issues and experiences - it's a pretty personal thing though, and I can't guarantee I'll be in the mood to share most of it.
But yeah, hello. Some of you obviously know who I am - those who don't, don't need to.

* "passing", in trans-speak, means passing as a genetic member of your presented gender - ie people seeing and treating me as a male-born man.
** to be "read", in trans-speak, means not passing - in my case, someone spotting that I wasn't born male, or possibly even not realising I am trans at all, and assuming I'm a butch kind of female.