My last post was apparently my 1,000th entry on this blog. Woot. I wish it had been a happy post, but whatever.
Anyway, I wanted to go back to the anecdotes I told in passing, the post before last.
I was at The Bunny’s place one time and had picked up a book he had lying around and was leafing through it. He was puttering around the room doing things, and at some point had opened up his pants and taken out his dick (but remained otherwise clothed). I did note this in my peripheral vision, but assumed it was for his own comfort and nothing to do with me. And his book was about the history of fetishwear and had many fetching photographs. So I kept looking through this book.
After a few minutes, The Bunny snottily asked me “do you need your prescription checked?”
“Prescription?” I echoed, looking up from the book. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Your glasses,” The Bunny said, half-laughing. “Can you see alright with them?” His tone was one of bravado being used to cover up vulnerability. Suddenly, I realized that this was about his exposed penis: he’d taken it out with the expectation that I’d ogle and want to touch it (because that’s what usually happens) and when I didn’t do this, he began to feel ridiculous. And rather than continue having his penis out but ignored or putting it away again unacknowledged, The Bunny chose to project and make me out to be the ridiculous one.
When we were at the sex club together, far into the night when we’d ditched what little clothing we were wearing and only had towels around our waists, The Bunny went to get a drink from the bar. As he waited to be served, I stood close behind him, petting his shoulders and trying to breathe through my agoraphobia and social anxiety so the room would shrink down to its proper dimensions and stop seeming so chaotic and huge.
I took a small step backwards – probably so as not to look like I was barnacled to The Bunny in terror, even though I kinda was, and he petulantly told me over his shoulder “I totally just went to do this – ” he ground his ass up against me “- but you moved.”
It seemed silly of him to even tell me this; I hadn’t noticed him backing up toward me, so he could’ve just kept quiet and I’d never have realized the gaffe. But, again, The Bunny had been trying to be sexy and it fell flat, and that’s embarrassing. So he was trying to transfer the embarrassment onto me by letting me know I moved back at the wrong time.
I said “Awww, I’m sorry!” kissed his shoulder, and humped his ass a little bit just to humour him.
The Bunny isn’t used to being a sex object, you see. It’s new to him, this thing where a lady orders him to get naked and then stares at him with a catch in her breath. At first, he seemed to kind of ignore my ogling and try to act as he always would. I think he didn’t quite believe I really was that attracted, that visual; I think he worried that it was all an elaborate practical joke at his expense. But little by little he began to trust in it, and to strut his stuff a little bit. Including things like taking out his dick, unbidden, for my viewing pleasure and rubbing his ass up against my pelvis in public.
But he’s still not used to my calibre of attention, and so he still feels a bit fragile. If he struts or preens for me and it falls flat, he’s right back to feeling like the butt of a joke.
Well, folks, I don’t mean to blow your minds or anything, but THAT’S HOW I FEEL, TOO. I know that I was born with a vagina and this is supposed to mean that I’ve spent my entire life feeling adored and desirable, but um…no.
Don’t get me wrong – in my own skin, as a genderqueer-type person, I feel comfortable and confident at this point in my life. My particular aesthetic may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there are plenty of people who dig it a lot. Lingerie of any kind, though…that feels a bit like drag, on me. It feels like I’m wearing a costume and not necessarily pulling it off.
See, for pretty much my entire life, people have told me that I’m womaning wrong. In high school, I was around 8″ taller than all the other girls (and taller than most of the guys, too) and quite the ugly duckling. Dudes didn’t generally hit on me, and I was convinced I would be undesirable forever and ever. From the time I was sixteen or so, random strangers have felt the burning need to wrinkle their nose at my choice of footwear (usually men’s shoes because, for a large portion of my life, I literally could not find women’s shoes in my size) and tell me my feet are big. My mom and a number of my chick friends would literally beg me to let them slop makeup on my face – because I would be so pretty if only…. I’ve been rejected by guys I liked because I was wasn’t “feminine” enough. I have repeatedly had people misgender me, despite my figure, simply because I’m tall and have short hair. Sometimes even while I was wearing a skirt or dress. I was once in a relationship where a guy excused his physically abusive behaviour by saying “You’re big. You look like you can take it.”
Only in the last two years, since I started life modelling, have people referred to me as “womanly,” “feminine,” etc. on a regular basis. I’m beginning to gingerly make peace with the idea of being a chick. But I’m not really confident as one yet.
So it pisses me off double when I try to tease The Bunny with the thought of me wearing stockings and he acts like he doesn’t give a shit, because he of all people should know exactly what it feels like to be juuuuust beginning to feel desirable in a certain way but still really fragile and easily hurt.