Biography of a TransexualbyNishta©
Hello, my name is Nishta, and I'm a transexual. Now, before your mind runs off with vivid fantasies involving the legendary "chicks with dicks" take some time to consider the implications of "transexual" in REAL LIFE. It's quite different than your kinky fantasies, and don't get me wrong- I love the kinky fantasies just as much as the next person, but this... this is sort of my story. Let me explain. No, that will take too long. Let me sum up.
I was born in Århus, Denmark. At the tender age of but two years old, my family moved to the United States, a place called Winston Salem, North Carolina. Home of the tobacco giants. (I blame that early exposure for my bad habit several years down the road) I grew up in a rather quaint neighborhood down one of those dead-end roads that looks like a giant spoon. I did typical kid things, running around, getting hurt, playing with my sister (two years my senior) and the other other neighborhood boys. However, even by age four, I was experiencing strange emotions about my gender- I wanted to wear dresses, I wanted girly toys. My parents attributed it to having an older sister. At age seven, however, my mother remarried and back to the frozen land of the North we went.
I grew up as John Sorensen, yes... John. I was a bit geeky, really. Or nerdy. Or dorky, I'm not sure which is most apt. I had only a few close friends, and most people thought it was only proper to tease me relentlessly in school. After all, I was incredibly short, had a high pitched voice, and "big lips." The tragedy. By age nine, complications with my femininity were only growing. Let it be noted that carrying Lego toys to school begets a healthy dosage of woe and grief from classmates. However, at age fourteen I was to experience my biggest change. I was going into the eighth grade, sure, but most importantly- I had the right to choose whose custody I was under. I immediately left my mother's small, conservative town and headed to the big city of Copenhagen to be with my father.
Now, I know you're supposed to give a whole load of B.S. about loving both parents equally, blah blah blah... Ok, I love my mom, sure- but my father and I, well... we actually seem like we're related. We're friends as well as parent/progeny. He gave me freedom, confidence, and a plethora of health foods. Mmm, grain and soy. Heading into the eighth grade, to be top of the class at a new school, I was determined to project a new me. I was given the nickname "Sparky" which I was actually rather fond of. I was popular, I had friends, lots of them! And girls began to show interest. In the awkward stages of puberty and the advent of hormones, I had intense pangs of gender dysphoria, as well as stretches where it never crossed my mind.
Now, to further elaborate on that- I knew there was something weird about me. I wouldn't look in the mirror and be happy with what I saw. I was short but well built, pretty attractive in general, for a guy... but it was like looking at a stranger. I would read those "coming of age" books about girls, how they grew larger breasts, their hips expanded, they'd get their first period... and the sense of longing and desire was so overwhelming at times I could do nothing more than lay in my bed and ache just thinking about it all. However, school and growing up would help push those things aside...
My first kiss was a girl named Emily. She was an American, a legal alien victim of parents in the military. The day before Christmas break, she brought mistletoe to school, and was kind enough to hold it over my head during recess. My sexuality took off during the end of that year like a moon-bound Apollo craft. I later started dating a sixteen year old girl with size D breasts who wasn't a virgin. Yes, presently our dear young Nish would be experiencing for the first time the pleasures of making out, and mutual masturbation.
The movie "Antz" was the cover for my first mutual orgasm. The aforementioned girlfriend, a slightly heavyset but nevertheless quite attractive sort of goth-looking girl named Julie, and I started the movie in a typical fashion of doing nothing but making out and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the film. Making out begot groping, and when no resistance was met, my first eyeful of naked breasts. Now that I look back on it, this girl at age sixteen had a much more ample bosom than any girl I've been with to date. I couldn't fit a satisfactory amount of them in my mouth. It culminated in an awkward scenario wherein I fingered her with my hand shoved down her still-buttoned pants. She, in return, just rubbed me through my jeans until I came.
That summer, at camp, I would go on to do much more making out, receive my first proposal for sex, (which I turned down) and have my first voyeuristic experience. The latter was the result of a rather risque game of truth or dare, and to the awe and slight discomfort of the rest of the circle of young'uns, a couple who seemed to be more experienced in the realm of sexuality ended up giving us a demonstration of how a girl gives head. It was at THAT moment that I realized just how bad this gender issue was. I wanted to be that girl more than I think I'd wanted anything in my whole life leading up to this point. Confident, sexy, didn't give a crap about what anybody else thought. She was going to pleasure her man, and she was going to do a good job of it, goddammit, no matter how many people were watching.
After that year, I regressed a bit- I moved back in with my mom, and for the first time I was introduced to the realm of cyberspace... and oh, how awe inspiring it was. On the internet there was pornography, erotica, how-to's and photos, resources, sites for sex-toys, pop-ups with women who screamed out at you, "Watch me have sex and get yourself off!!!" with only a look. But more importantly for me, it provided anonymity. On the internet, I was a faceless screen-name. So naturally, I projected who I felt I was on the inside into this cyber-world.
I assumed different roles of females- some completely imagined, some based on girls I knew, all based on me to a larger extent. I was able to experience what it was like to interact with people as a woman. Sure, it's the internet... but hey, you work with what you have, no? It was liberating, it was elating, it was paradise. I could project the most desirable woman any man could ever dream about. Smart, sexy, (borrowed pics of old crushes help) funny, witty, into video games, knowledgeable in "guy" things... I loved it.
Two years back at my mom's house, and all I can remember is how much I grew internally, learning more about myself. Learning about what makes me tick by studying it in others. I talked with all manner of people, absorbing everything I could. Guys, girls, gays, lesbians, racists, pacifists, people obsessed with bestiality, incest, exhibitionism, D/s relationships, anything under the sun. (And a few things lurking about in darker places the sun never reaches.) It was slow, naturally. Gradual growth impeded by society's standard walls. However, as fast as society could build one wall around an ideal, my exploration broke down two. It was my reclusive "age of enlightenment" as it were.
At age sixteen, at a colossal five feet, two inches, I received two things much to my own sense of elation and joy. A driver's license, and a girlfriend. Luckily, I was dating someone smaller than me. She was a senior, where I was only a sophomore. Mette, age eighteen at the time, and owner of a phenomenally athletic and tight body. She did gymnastics and cheer leading, and it showed. She gave me my first proper hand-job, over the many movies we would watch during the summer snuggled up on my bed. I still didn't cross the boundary of oral sex with her, but we had some pretty intense masturbational experiences. I brought her to orgasm for the first time the day she introduced me to my first ever vibrator, a five-inch neon pink buzzy little thing with a curled tip.
Now, besides being a great source of sexploration, Mette was also the facilitator of the the next stage in my gender development. By my junior year, she had become a freshman in college. I got to spend a lot of time in her dorm, but she was also quite busy and often left me hanging. Presently I would be experiencing my first little tour into the realm of cross dressing. While she was gone, I would put on her underwear and skirts, and prance around generally feeling pretty and cute. She never found out, and the pressures of med-school eventually led her away from our relationship.
Around the same time, shortly after Mette and I split up, I had started attending youth conferences once per month. These were basically a gathering of between thirty and eighty kids between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Now, you can well imagine how rampant hormones ran during these events. The best part about them, however, was that these were kids who had all been raised with a like mentality- accept everyone. Nobody is "uncool" and unworthy of attention, be friendly, and respect everybody with an open mind. It was paradise. I never absorbed so much energy from a crowd of people than I did during conferences.
I was slow to gain confidence there, at first... I did manage to hook up with by far the most attractive girl at the entire event during my first ever con, though. By the time that school year was half over, however, I was king of the con. I would play the "It's Just Porn, Mum!" song on guitar, I would do the Star Wars gangsta rap during open mic, I was known by people who had never even met me. ("Oh, YOU'RE Sparky? My friends told me about you!") Now, don't get me wrong there were lots of people at this high status there, that was the beauty of the con. It was equality incarnate. In short time, my lips became legendary for their softness. I did more than a fare share of making out, and I kissed my first boy there too. (An effeminate guy by the name of Anonymous. Yes, Anonymous... Nonni for short.) I was told I had softer lips than some girls, my ego soared...
Throughout the difficulties of my high school life, those cons were my anchor. I was able to talk with a transgendered guy for the first time. (Grew up female, became male.) I told a girl about my longing to be one, and she was accepting. It would be that same girl who gave me my first ever blow-job, a feat I still marvel at to this day. (We were jam-packed on the floor of a church congregational hall, with the pews shoved to the sides. She managed to go down on me and swallow enough so that we didn't even leave any evidence. Kudos, Shayne!) There was one point that she came down and visited me outside of conferences, when I was in college. We fooled around and de-69-virgified each other. As delicious as she tasted, the euphoria wasn't to last long after she told me in tears (once we were done) that she was dating a guy back where she lived.
There were several more make-out buddies, and a brief relationship with a younger girl who introduced me to cunnilingus with dairy products (namely whipped cream and nutella) involved. Then came my first revolutionary girlfriend. Mckenna. We dated for two and a half years, and she was the first girl to teach me how to shave my legs, tweeze my eyebrows, put on makeup (hard!!) and other such essentials to female living. The secret came out to her when I jokingly put on her school-girl outfit, and she encouraged me to complete the costume. We stuffed a bra, she put lipstick on me... it was liberating. Now, there were two distinguishing characteristics about Ken-ken and while one was her bull-headedness and strong will, the other was her propensity for sex.
We had been dating for I think under a month, I was nineteen, she seventeen... when she became the first to take my virginity. I remember we had stayed up all night talking with each other and cuddling... it was pure magic. We clicked so well, it was like two corresponding puzzle pieces fitting snugly to create a picture. I knew I was ready then if ever. We headed to a pharmacy to pick up a condom... *bangs head on wall, blushing* now, this was a great memory of my first time: The security guard at the pharmacy was (I guess) so tickled by this young couple, that she actually chased us out onto the street, and shouted from a distance, "Getting an early start on the weekend?" with a huge grin on her face. Bless her.
Like the typical male, I came within the first sixty seconds, but it wouldn't be until about a year later she ever found out. (Hehehe...) I managed to stay hard and keep going, never having let on that I actually had two orgasms, not one. From then on we were hooked. We did it every day, except when she was on her period. (Sometimes we did it then, too.) We had sex in trains, on hotel roofs, in port-a-potties, in parks, on the counter, in the shower, on the floor, on the stairs, you name it. There's a smaller, lockable bathroom in the Smithsonian museum between the Freer and Sackler art galleries, underground where the two connect- we graced that one, too.
She took me out for the first time ever when I was fully dressed up as a woman. She was ALWAYS supportive of my gender crisis, she did everything to make me feel comfortable about it. One of my favorite outings was when we went to a park at night, both looking fabulous in sexy revealing clothes and classy makeup, and I went down on her. It was sort of like my first "lesbian" experience, hehe. On the walk back, a guy clocked me (term for noticing it's a guy, not a girl) and while passive enough... he proceeded to lecture us on God and Christianity, and the evident nature of my sin. She stood up for me the whole time, defended me with a passionate argument- intelligent responses, not just anger. She was my Goddess that night, I felt blessed to tread on the same earth as she was. (Or pavement, rather.)
Now, as time moved on and the flaws in our relationship became more apparent, we started to drift apart and break away from our self-destructive coupling. It got hostile, there was yelling and strong emotions- but to that remarkable woman's credit, she NEVER once used my issues with my gender to push my buttons. (And DAMN if she wasn't good at finding everything else that would push those buttons.) She was a pivotal role, but somehow a brief two month fling that never amounted to anything more than exchanged text on a computer screen would alter my life in a greater way than I could ever imagine.
Her name was Kate, and we instantly became flirtatious friends. I was playing World of Warcraft, and naturally had assumed the role of a female there, as was most comfortable and matching to my personality. Kate was dark, brooding... but sexy, vivacious, and infinitely appealing. The more I tried to get close and learn about who she was, the further she would push away- but I could tell she didn't truly want to. Eventually, her vacillatory nature came out. "Look, you're falling for me and you don't even know the truth about me. I'm transgendered, Nish, I used to be a guy." She fully expected me to be grossed out and lose all interest then and there, but my response was genuine and straight from the heart, "Sweety that's OK, why on earth would that change the way I feel about you??"
While internet relationships are tentative at best, I gathered a great deal of information and confidence from Kate. She told me about how it was for her to become a transsexual, how she got her hormones and how she flew to Thailand to get her operation without a psychiatric evaluation. She empowered me, not just with her words but with her example of strong-willed determination, to take the next steps towards the realization of my ultimate goal.
Through an online ordering company, I was able to start hormones. The change was intense, even from within the first few days I was experiencing mood-swings, but it was altogether beautiful. Slowly... painfully slowly, I began to change more. My hair grew finer, I had to shave less, I started to get some semblance of hips, and over many months I finally started to sprout breasts. I was extremely reclusive during this time, living locked up in my room for the most part and avoiding friends and family. The computer and internet communities were my unfailing support network for these changes. I had several electrolysis treatments to help remove facial hair and other undesirable hair. I began dressing up and living full time as a woman.
Finally, I was starting to feel like I had a body that matched who I had been inside all along, since those first confusing desires in my earliest memories around age three or four. I didn't go out often, and I was very quiet when I did. I was extremely self conscious of my more masculine features still, but all in all it was one of the happiest transitional stages of my life. I got by on what I prided myself in the most- being able to be happy with myself and who I was. I -liked- being who I was, I liked how people would talk to me about all these changes and open up to me. I think I definitely have risen to the upper ninety-fifth percentile for open-mindedness. After about a year of hormones, I was ready for the next step.
You know that mounting tension you develop as a young kid leading up to Christmas? Imagine that sensation somehow magnified by over a hundred times. More intense than a big move, or a new job. More intense than when I was about to lose my virginity. More intense than ANYTHING I've ever been excited or nervous about, ever... I prepared for the final stage, the operation. I booked my flight to Bangkok, I had developed a good repoire with the lovely Dr. Pitchet who would be preforming my surgery. He was understanding, infinitely kind and gentle, and never overwhelming or pushy. Looking back, I can't even remember anything about the days leading up to my departure. I don't even remember getting on the airplane.
Bangkok was a blur, I was overwhelmed entirely with the situation at hand. I remember thinking to myself in awe and wonder that this man, this doctor, did this every day. He changed people's entire lives, and it was just his job. I wasn't star-struck when I met Ron Jeremy or Janeane Garafolo (spelling, I know...) but for some reason this man had me just that- star struck. The lovely assistants and his beautiful, kind, warm wife helped me along, gave me support, and in general treated me like a princess. The operation, I was informed after the haze of induced unconsciousness wore off, was a success.
The next several days were painful, physically, but pure ecstasy, emotionally. I continued to receive royal treatment, and tender care. These doctors and assistants didn't just make money and deal with patients, they worked miracles and treated their patients with love. You became part of the family while you were down there. I stayed in the hotel for two weeks, then was moved to another one further North closer to Phra Nakhon. I stayed there for another three weeks, recovering. My wonderful doctor checked up on me and said he was happy that it all looked like it was turning out beyond perfect.
Begrudgingly, I found myself on a plane headed back home all too soon, the balmy weather and smiling, beautiful faces behind me. I had documentation for a legal name change, and an appropriate gender assignment for when I got my new license. I had all the tools and information to help facilitate the healing process, and ensure everything turned out alright. But most of all, I had the complete dignity of being in the body I truly desired.
Well, perhaps it wasn't particularly dignifying to have to dilate myself with what looked like an ACME cartoon version of a dildo every day, but hey- it did its job. The healing was slow, and a bit frustrating at times. Things didn't look right at first, it looked more like someone had tried to sew a flesh-colored pocket into me and not done a very good job. Over time, however, everything began to heal. I noticed how pronounced the outer and inner lips were, and the nice shaping of it all. Even within only two months of the operation, and completely against everything I had heard to the contrary, I found my clitoris to be sensitive. Most everything was numb, but I could get a little pleasure from rubbing around down there gingerly.