Most of my problems--most of me, really--seems to revolve around sex. This is an opinion sahred not only by me, but by a former friend.
When puberty arrived, and arrived it did with a vengeance, in the middle of sixth grade---I had presumably normal heterosexual fantasies (and homosexual fantasies as well, though I denied them at the time) but there was a certain something else present.
By something else I mean that I had a strange love/hate relationship with the idea of body switching. This was exemplified by the movie Freaky Friday, which caused me such discomfort during a showing in fifth grade, some lazy Friday, that I literally left the room and sat outside the classroom door. The teacher supervising the film looked sympathetic enough, but puzzled.
The family had the internet early, I ran across a short story from a book called Trapped in Silk. It was labeled "transgender", a definition I didn't understand at the time. Had I been old enough, I would have linked it to the strange desire I'd developed to wear women's clothing.
I can remember sneaking off into the laundry room and wearing some of my mother's and sister's panties---and getting a sort of sexual thrill from it. At first, it was arousing, later it became comfortable...as though it was perfectly normal.
Yet, I didn't understand the implications of this behavior, but by the manner of the feelings I felt and the plots of the stories...I had managed to patch together some great nebulous thing that I was but couldn't quite define.
I enjoyed imagining myself as a female...particularly as being a female during sex and I enjoyed being in a submissive role.
I've often pondered how and why these thoughts came about. I had been the youngest of my playmates, during the times of the molestation, or at least had SEEMED the youngest, as I was extremely reticient and shy.
In queer male terms, this is a classic bottom scenario. The smallest, least assertive, least masculine man ends up being fucked, to put it bluntly.
Still, it would be nice to know more than just the sketchy outlines. Everyone I've ever talked to who share these same fantasies has a history of childhood molestation. To a one.
When puberty arrived, and arrived it did with a vengeance, in the middle of sixth grade---I had presumably normal heterosexual fantasies (and homosexual fantasies as well, though I denied them at the time) but there was a certain something else present.
By something else I mean that I had a strange love/hate relationship with the idea of body switching. This was exemplified by the movie Freaky Friday, which caused me such discomfort during a showing in fifth grade, some lazy Friday, that I literally left the room and sat outside the classroom door. The teacher supervising the film looked sympathetic enough, but puzzled.
The family had the internet early, I ran across a short story from a book called Trapped in Silk. It was labeled "transgender", a definition I didn't understand at the time. Had I been old enough, I would have linked it to the strange desire I'd developed to wear women's clothing.
I can remember sneaking off into the laundry room and wearing some of my mother's and sister's panties---and getting a sort of sexual thrill from it. At first, it was arousing, later it became comfortable...as though it was perfectly normal.
Yet, I didn't understand the implications of this behavior, but by the manner of the feelings I felt and the plots of the stories...I had managed to patch together some great nebulous thing that I was but couldn't quite define.
I enjoyed imagining myself as a female...particularly as being a female during sex and I enjoyed being in a submissive role.
I've often pondered how and why these thoughts came about. I had been the youngest of my playmates, during the times of the molestation, or at least had SEEMED the youngest, as I was extremely reticient and shy.
In queer male terms, this is a classic bottom scenario. The smallest, least assertive, least masculine man ends up being fucked, to put it bluntly.
Still, it would be nice to know more than just the sketchy outlines. Everyone I've ever talked to who share these same fantasies has a history of childhood molestation. To a one.