FTM. Do you know what that means? For the unwary, it means female-to-male transsexual. That's what I am, even though I haven't begun any surgeries or started taking hormones yet. If you were to look at me, you'd see a six-foot-tall, blonde-haired, kind of tomboyish white chick. You might even check out my big boobs and big white butt and think that I'm hot, and that's where you'd be wrong. What you find attractive about me is what absolutely repulses me to my core.
Got a surprise for you, dearest reader. I don't want to be female. I don't know how I can explain it any further. I hate my female body. I hate being treated like a female. Even in this age of gender equality and progressive politics. I am not a woman, even though my outward appearance says otherwise. I don't like being referred to as she. Call me they. In my heart and in my soul, I know that I am a man. I want to be the man I've always known I was meant to be. My driver's licence says Jacqueline Brownstone, born on November 9, 1984. Call me Jack, please.
I've always been quirky and weird, and not just because of my self-admitted transgender status. Most of my friends are male and I have no use for female friends with their drama, their fake ways and their bullshit. No, I am not a gay chick. I don't lust after women. I feel attracted to masculinity. I like men's bodies, and men's ways of thinking, feeling and dealing with the world. Oh, and I fuck men. I am a gay man trapped inside a female body. Welcome to my life.
The other day, I spied a tall, hunky young man of African descent walking through Hog's Back Park in the south end of Ottawa. This park is one of my favorite spots, located within walking distance of Carleton University, my alma mater. I studied Criminology at Carleton University, graduating with a bachelor's degree in the summer of 2007. Anyhow, I followed this cute, Somali-looking guy as he walked through the park, and headed for an old outdoors washroom. A wooden, antique leftover from when the park last got renovated by the City of Ottawa.
I waited five minutes after the tall, handsome and well-dressed brother went in and then went into the washroom. My buddy Matt is a graduate student at Carleton and this flaming gay sociologist told me countless tales of the dicks he's sucked in that very same washroom. Apparently, there was a glory hole inside, and dudes often go in there to fuck other dudes, or get their dicks sucked. Curious, I went inside, careful not to make any noise. The tall brother was in the stall, I could see his legs sticking out under.
From the way the brother's legs stuck out from under the stall, I guessed he was sitting on the toilet, and since no scent emanated from the place, he wasn't taking a dump. Nope, the dude was jerking off. Smiling, I walked up to the hole and casually knocked. When the dude didn't answer, I did the next best thing to entice him. Matt always told me that gay guys and bisexual men who frequent places like this only go there for sex, but they have to be coaxed a little. I dropped my pants, pulled down my boxer shorts and pressed my very naked white ass against the glory hole. I felt a hand press against my ass through the hole, and smiled. Now I've got the brother's attention.
I turned around and glimpsed sleek brown fingers eagerly probing through the hole. In a deep voice, the brother asked me if he could suck my dick. I smiled, though inwardly I shuddered. More than anything I'd like to have a dick of my own, a flesh and blood one, and use it to fuck other guys. I'd like to have other guys suck my dick and get fucked by them in return. Unfortunately, I am trapped in this supposedly gorgeous but revoltingly female body. Ugh, I hate myself. Muffling my voice, which was already a bit deeper than that of the average female, sort of like that of WNBA superstar Brittney Griner, I addressed the brother.
