I started this blog intending to only post once a week, because I felt the discipline would be good for me and because I thought the content would be consistently of higher quality. These things may still be true.

But lately I find that things are happening, and I can’t stay silent. There is no one I know IRL who has a clue about my secret life; and, while I hope that continues for as long as possible, at the same time I need to proclaim my truth, even if no one cares or listens.

In searching for the right label for who I am, I thought “genderqueer” might apply; but I don’t think it does. I’m not genderfluid. I know who and what I am. I am a feminine soul in a male body. Does this make me transgender? I think some would say so; but I don’t. I believe that I – the I between lifetimes, who knows more than I can hope to – knew that there were things I needed to learn that an incarnation as a male would help me to learn. Have I learned them? I don’t know. Does this mean I should turn my back on femininity, since incarnating as a male is kind of a slap in the face of my femininity? I can’t believe that, either. My femininity is *me*; this is who I am. Maybe that means I’ll have to do this again – gag! – but, for the time being, I am rejoicing at finally finding myself.

It has occurred to me that perhaps the time I’ve put in so far in this lifetime is enough, and I’m being paroled, given the rest of my life to “come home,” so to speak – to retire, from the burden of trudging through maledom. That’s my favorite interpretation.

My mother told me that, when I was a very small boy – two years old, I think – she found me in the tub with a razor, blood streaming down my legs, and I happily announced to her, “I’m shaving!” Until recently, I always thought this was merely funny; but, because of recent events, I’m looking deeper. Why would a boy of this age seek to identify with his mother, rather than his father? Perhaps I’m reading too much into the event; but it makes me think.

My upbringing was hellish. I don’t want to go into too much detail, because I treasure my anonymity. A number of years ago, a chance meeting on the internet wherein I unintentionally disclosed a tiny bit more than I should have done resulted in a perfect stranger figuring out who I was and calling my parents on the phone. OMG. That ain’t going to happen again. Suffice it to say, I was raised in hell. It isn’t hard for me to believe that the girl within was repressed along with a number of other things. Knowing my parents as I do, if I looked genderqueer to them, it would have scared the crap out of them.

Goddess, I feel so free these days. Because of the nature of my work, I daily spend extended periods of time away from my co-workers; and, as time has gone by over the last few weeks, I have noticed and increased femininity about my personal expression – movement, basically. As part of my project of schooling the body to free the soul, I’ve begun working on my handwriting, trying let my femininity flow more freely there; and just today a female co-worker commented that my handwriting was “so pretty.” Goddess, that was such a shot in the arm. If there is one word I would want to claim as my own, it is that one: pretty. I want to be pretty. I want to be pretty so badly – and yet, I know that in this life it will never happen. Except. To the extent I can let my feminine soul free, I *can* be pretty. And I have seen evidence that the soul can trump the body, and shine through. That is my prayer for my own life.

The notion occurred to me a few days ago, and yesterday I did it. It could have made me late for work, but I did it anyway. I was getting ready for work – shower, shave – and decided I was going to shave under my arms, something I’d never done in my entire life. And I did. Then, after work, I came home and shaved my chest and belly. I learned that I need to buy an electric razor; this is harder than you might think. I’ve got chest stubble. I’m going to sha...

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Well, my last blog post was edited. I hope those who were interested enough to read it were still able to make sense of the edited portion.

In seeking to encourage my inner girl to manifest, I’m seriously considering the notion that, if the body does something, the mind will follow. This principle has been borne out in other areas, so why not try it here? With that in mind, I’ve been looking at a few specific activities.

I’ve been thinking of taking up knitting. My initial thought was that, since knitting is a girly activity, it might help my girly side to come out; but I have since learned that you can knit dresses! Whoa! Now, I’m not a transvestite (someone who gets sexually excited by dressing up as a woman), and I’m not planning to walk down Main Street dressed like Heidi Klum. But, wow, I think I would *love* to knit myself a sexy little dress that leaves plenty of thigh exposed and wear it around the house.

I’ve also been looking at learning to walk like a woman and write like a woman, for the same reason: body leads, mind follows. I’m doing some of the walking part already, anyway. That’s where the people I know IRL are going to catch me, I know it. My movements are becoming feminine. It’s only a matter of time. And you know what? I’m ready for it. I don’t care. They’ll think I’m gay; so what? I can live with that.

It’s a little strange, being sexually attracted to women and wanting to be one. I find that when I watch films with dynamic women characters I want to connect with them, with their energy. When I was a confused vanilla male, all I wanted to do was sleep with them; but now, my appreciation of them is so much more nuanced. Yes, they’re still sexy; but often *being* them is more important than *bedding* them.

If you are interested enough to be reading this, then it may interest you to know that my heroes have always, largely, been female. I noticed this years ago. Men always seemed so forbidding, women so much more approachable. For years, the only professional sport I followed was women’s tennis. If I could die and come back as Chrissy Evert, I would waive all further divine favors. Chrissy is a goddess.

It’s funny; but, as life becomes more complex, it becomes more simple. If I tried to wrap my brain around the changes entering my life, I’d crash and burn. But simply accepting them makes things so easy. I suddenly think of the many young boys and girls experiencing gender dysphoria, having to deal with parents and peers and school and all that – and I want to embrace them all, tell them that it gets better, that what seems so all-consuming and critical at this present moment is nothing compared to the freedom that will be theirs when they’ve left all that behind. If there is anything that young people in crisis need to know, from people who can relate to their station in life, it’s the realization that the small window they see is so … meaningless. They just need to get through it, and when they are free they can turn and laugh at those who rejected and condemned them and go on to live in joy.

The emergence of the girl within is a slow process, but one with sudden surprises. Things happen unexpectedly that fill me with joy.

Several days ago, an image came to me suddenly, of a woman driving a sport convertible. It was me. I looked good.

I had another experience this week that I would like to write about, but it is terribly embarrassing. What’s important about it, however, is that it brought home to me, in a way that was beyond reason, the fact that I am not in control. When that realization hit me, I experienced a sudden burst of freedom to be girly. Goddess, I love being girly. And it’s starting to come out naturally. I’m a little concerned about the reactions of others, because, eventually, they’re going to notice. They’ll probably think I’m gay. Well, I guess I can live with that.

Money has been tight recently, what with tax time coming up. I’m expecting to owe this year, so I’m pinching pennies. Fortunately, I live very near where I work; so, instead of eating out, I’ve been coming home for lunch. Yesterday, as I drove home, I was feeling so girly that I couldn’t wait to get home and take off my clothes. Apparently, nudity and my inner girl are connected in my mind, somehow – not terribly surprisingly. I think the conviction is growing that the girl inside is the real me, while the male body is just a mask. Taking off my clothes is mythically the same thing as removing the mask.

I wonder if this will become my way of being a girl. I know I can never truly be a girl, the way I would be if I had been born with two X chromosomes. No *mod edit* to die for. But if I can remove the mask by removing my clothes, so much the better. However the inner girl is set free, it will be a blessing. If it can be that simple, I’ll be so grateful.

I was surprised, not long ago, while I was watching TV. There was an attractive female presenter on the screen, and I suddenly realized that, instead of admiring her charms, I was admiring her clothes.

I’ve been thinking of picking up a feminine pastime, like knitting, to give my inner girl more of an opportunity to gain some ground. I’m not terribly attracted to knitting, but sewing scares the $#%^ out of me. If anyone has a suggestion, I’d welcome it.

It was several years ago that I realized that I wanted to be a woman, but a woman who loved women. Naturally, I considered the possibility that I was a “male lesbian,” and, because I shared a number of the characteristics, I decided that this is what I was.

The reality may be more complex. You see, to me, male lesbianism is acquired rather than inborn; it is the response by a heterosexual male with a certain kind of personality to being unsuccessful in realizing his goals in our society. However, I came to suspect, and now believe, that there is something inborn about my desire to be a woman.

As I mentioned in my first blog post, I believe in reincarnation; and my current hypothesis is that I am a feminine soul born into a male body. Some cultures believe that souls have fixed genders; others believe they have no gender; and still others believe they experience both genders, working toward an eventual transcendence of both. Among these last are those who believe that a soul who has incarnated mostly into one sex can therefore have a preference to incarnating into that sex; i.e., a soul who has incarnated more as a woman may have a preference for expressing itself as a woman.

The purpose of reincarnation being to mature and advance toward the eventual transcendence of gender, a soul who has a marked preference for one needs to incarnate as the other in order to learn to appreciate its virtues, to help it embrace them, too.

I suspect this is what has happened to me. I suspect I am a soul which prefers being female and have incarnated this time as a male in order to help me grow.

Lee Schubert has written a nice article in the Huffington Post about being a woman in a man’s body, explaining that he is content not to dress as a woman or to undergo surgery because he is already a woman, albeit one inhabiting a male body. My own view is a bit different. I have no desire to dress as a woman because I would be hideous as a woman, because I would turn my life upside-down and because I don’t need to. This is not, as Lee says, because I am already a woman; no, the truth is bit subtler than that. I am both. The body and the soul are not separate; they influence each other and shape each other. Although, under my hypothesis, I have a feminine soul and a marked preference for being a woman, I am inhabiting a male body and that body and its drives and experiences color the eternal me, my soul.

I suspect this coloring is going to take a number of lifetimes before it tames the woman inside me. The urge to be female – that is, to express my female self -- is strong. I have asked my deity for help in letting this self out, and I believe such help is already at work, undoubtedly at a decidedly slower pace than I would like.

I received a private message from someone going to great length about how autogynephilia – sexual arousal that comes from imagining oneself as a woman – is really an emasculation fetish. I have no way of knowing, but the literature he sent me presents a seemingly reasonable argument. Actually, I considered early on whether my infatuation with being a woman was a fetish – an emotional, rather than a sexual fetish, if such a thing exists – and concluded that it was not. As for the other, imagining myself as a woman never aroused me. It did bring me joy and a deep sense of peace. Those few times I imagined myself having a sexual encounter (with another woman), the vision of my own female body did nothing for me, while my vision of my partner did. For this reason, I concluded that I am not an autogynephile.

I did have an interesting experience this week, reading a piece of lesbian erotica. As I visualized the lovers in the story, I kept switching back and forth in which of them I wanted to identify with. I did experience arousal at the image of myself being pleasured by my partner; but I think this is something altogether different from autogynephilia.

Something else occurred this week. Many years ago, I was a fan of soci...

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This is likely the only place I could feel comfortable blogging about my … idiosyncracy. Though offending people is last thing I want to do, I must speak my truth; and, if my truth offends you, I’m sorry for your pain. But that’s the nature of the world. We all have to put our big girl/boy panties/pants on and deal with what is. I’m on your side, even if we disagree. You and I are more than our opinions.

Hesitantly and with humility, I think I am what some call a “male lesbian” – a man who would rather have been born a woman who loves women, and who feels that as a woman he could better live as his true self. I do not see myself as a “woman born in a man’s body.” I was born a man, and a man is what I am. But I believe I have a feminine soul.

I am something of a Witch – I worship a Pagan goddess of Witchcraft – and I believe in reincarnation. I suspect I have lived as a lesbian before, and that my heart yearns for that – or those – lifetime(s). Gay friends have told me that I am the “gayest straight man” they have ever met; and I have also been told that I seem to be very in-touch with my “feminine side.”

For the past 15 or so years, I have been a collector of lesbian film – not the stuff they play on Cinemax (though, to be honest, I do own a few of those), but the stuff made by lesbians for lesbians, as well as stuff made with a lesbian theme. Lesbian film speaks to me in a way that I do not understand; it’s one of the reasons I believe I have been one before.

I have recently begun acknowledging as fact my essentially feminine nature. This is changing the way I interact with other people, as well as the way I interact with myself and the world. Since embracing this feminine soul of mine, I find that my behaviors are changing, as are my interactions with others. At work today, I was working alone, and observed myself making feminine gestures – quite unlike my customary behavior.

Without conscious intent, our society basically subscribes to a Judeo-Christian framework that does not take multiple lifetimes into account. Our society is not prepared for someone like me.

We incarnate as we do for specific reasons, to learn specific lessons. From my current perspective, I would be a fool to second-guess the decision for me to incarnate as I have for this lifetime; that decision was made from a basis of understanding that is as far from my current comprehension as east is from west. No; wiser minds than mine thought I should be born male. OK. Fine. I’ve got it.

But I want to be a woman. Please, don’t make me do this again.