[SIZE="2"]“The division between the sexes has to a large extent been invented. Only a comparatively small number of people are active within this division. The rest? They are waiting for something to happen or to be done to them. But society has attempted to make moral differences. We must have the freedom to drift and find ourselves again.” (Francis Bacon [the painter], 1964)
Despite all appearances to the contrary, I do not wish to be a woman, in fact “Heck no!” sums it up rather nicely. This opinion is highly personal, based as it is on many years of observation and life as a genetic male. I play at being a girl (or a woman, if you prefer) to be significantly less male, but I remain a male at all times. I can do no other thing, i.e. this is the lot I’ve been given, or burdened with, and so I try to make the best of it. Before I go any further, I mean no offense against females, in fact the following diatribe is meant to be amusingly self-deprecating. Pardon the obvious pun, but let’s see if I can pull “it” off. Recently I submitted this epithet:
But, I was lying in my bed the other day, in my darkened bedroom full of closets, and I began to think just how wonderful it is to be male! For instance, I get to wear clothing that is practical, of a certain weight and texture, devoid of color or muted to denounce all that is beautiful. None of this clothing could be called delicate, charming, tactile, or fashionable; in fact it all looks correctly frumpish, piled on the floor like rubbish. I, as a male, am allowed to be indifferent to what I wear, or how I look. This is a freedom that has been fought for throughout the generations – how dare I take pride in my appearance, when I am the end result of countless anti-fashion mutations?Originally Posted by Frédérique
In a similar vein, I am allowed to show my facial hair, and, dare I say, body hair as well. I don’t like my inherent male hair, but I am allowed to display it as a sign of virility (if I want to GET something, that is). I can use all the tools in my male “kit” to influence other males, indeed they are doing the same thing – after all, this is all I have to work with. Even so, I shave my face (and other areas) to show other males that I’m not on the same wavelength. I’m expected to be a team player, but I’m not, so I shave to display that unalterable fact – it’s the least I can do. Also, I have no tattoos, no obvious piercings, and no “bling” to speak of. In many ways I am a throwback to a previous era, and, to be truthful, they should put me under a glass case in a museum…
Speaking of this “team” mentality, being a male means that I am absolutely fascinated with moving, throwing, shooting and depositing balls – I’m talking about sporting events. There’s nothing more important than moving a ball an inch or two TOWARDS an imaginary objective, all to no purpose. The injuries and pointless celebrating that occurs along the way, as the precious ball is carried, kicked and caressed to its final destination, are necessary and highly entertaining. To a male, there is a subliminally sexual connotation to all this “driving” towards a goal – males need no explanation at all, but, if I was a woman, I would be completely mystified. I know, there are many women sports fans, but I can only speak from a male viewpoint as I watch males engage in innately male activities. I actually laugh at the ridiculousness of it all – I mean, it IS funny…
Being a male also means I am allowed to distance myself from female companionship, and meet up with my “buddies” in some form of male-bonding exercise. I don’t have to explain this to anyone, especially the women I am avoiding, because society insists that males are from here, women are from there, and it’s pointless to expect heartfelt, consistent cooperation between the two factions. Nope, the males can hop on their glorified riding tractors and head for the hills to do male things, usually in pairs or groups. I find it hard to live up to these male expectations by “bonding” in some way with other males, because I actually prefer the company of women. However, I don’t wish to be one of the latter. I am at odds with these male ideas of domination and control, but their very presence allows me to appreciate the other “side” of things – if I eliminated this maleness, there would be no need to “cross” over or, for that matter, crossdress. You know what they say: “Boys will be BOYS…”
I’m sure a male came up with the idea of joining “joy” to “stick,” because cylindrical thinking is the pervasive, overriding thing going on here. I, being male, must bow at the base of my own personal obelisk, and move unswervingly towards whatever direction it points. Have you ever noticed that males do a LOT of pointing? There’s also a fascination with tools, and the fasteners they drive into position, in fact most tools have a characteristic male shape – you can apply that observation to weapons as well. Also, consider the leaf blower. It would all blow my mind, but, since I’m a male, it all makes perfect sense. The nut and the bolt are counterparts, designed by males, and boys/men are obsessed with such things. If I was a woman, I would miss out on this tragic-comic appreciation of hardware and the glee a male gets by skipping through the tool department at Home Depot…
I was born a male, and thus I am not expected to enjoy intimacy, enjoy tactile splendor, or enjoy doing any “sissy” or “queer” things. No, I was equipped at the factory, according to specifications (and chance), and I have to make the best of it. My male-ness is pervasive, and I play with it, just like I play at being a girl for reasons of mental stability. However, I cannot imagine BEING a woman – it’s a shortfall of tragic proportions, but I must somehow embrace my masculinity. I am not as…accomplished…as a transgendered individual, even though we may dress alike and come under the same alternative umbrella. I dress because I’m a sensitive boy, I like sensation, I like going against the grain, and I enjoy experimentation. The key word is BOY, the name for a rambunctious male entity that, in many ways, is free to do as he pleases. If I was a girl I could write this from the other side, but I’m not, and I never will be, so I shan’t…
What I’m trying to say is this – I know no other way, and crossdressing is the best I can do. I could not comment on male behavior if I was not one of them, albeit a girly-boy with acute sissy pretensions and perverted tastes. Other males would, most certainly, see me as a queer, since I do not neatly fall into the slot they (and society) have provided. However, I embrace my birth gender with all my might, if only to have a foundation, or a base for continuing operations, or to have something to hang on to (pun intended). I don’t expect females to understand where I’m coming from, but I most emphatically do not want to BE a woman. You can all relax. Playing dress-up is a pleasant yet serious diversion, a necessary technique for dealing with one’s male existence – since (tragically) I wasn’t born female, I can only deal with approximations, half-measures, abstractions, and passable representations. I mean no disrespect to women, and I crave sympathetic understanding from everyone…
BTW, my thanks to Miss Lake, who unwittingly provided the catchy title…
The punchline: Do you want to be a woman, or is crossdressing enough?
[SIZE="1"]PS – Hello, SweetPea_GG![/SIZE][/SIZE]
