Reading Between the Lines
by Raven Usher
Every transgendered person who ventures out into public while displaying an outward image of their gender dysphoria faces the prospect of being read. Being “read” is when we are recognized as gender other than what we are trying to display. It does not matter how well we pass or how often we pull it off. Sooner or later, we will be read. It is inevitable. Someone somewhere is going to be able to tell.
Any transgender, M to F or F to M, who considers being viewed publicly has to come to terms with the idea of being read. It is a fact of tranny life. Ironically, being read is not the unnerving thing. What scares TG’s the most is not knowing how that person who reads us is going to react. Will they be accepting? Will they ignore us? Will they spout off disparaging insults? Will they be violent?
Another huge concern is where will we be when we are read. Having it happen in a crowded mall is a minor concern. It is easy to get lost in a crowd that big. And the chances of someone getting violent with that many people around is extremely low. Being read in a half empty dark parking lot on they way back to your car after an evening at the club is a truly terrifying thought. That is why you do not typically see trannies closing down the bars.
It never fails to surprise me about where I am when I get read or who it is that recognizes me. Most of the time it is other women who read me. Women have the eye for a “true” female form instead of the Playboy Bunny ideal that men foster. Women will also look beyond deep cleavage and shapely legs to observe body language and mannerisms. The funny part is that they never read me when I am doing stereotypical female activities. They do not spot me when I am shopping for groceries, getting my hair done, or in a form fitting bathing suit while swimming at the YMCA. I get read at the hardware store buying home repair items or at the firing range popping off a few rounds.
Another large portion of the people who read me are children. Kids have that wonderful ability to look at the world without the prejudice or peer pressure of societal expectations. They can see the fairies in the garden and friendly ghosts that play with them when the adults are too busy. So why would they not see me? A child’s world is one of endless possibilities and seeing me for what I use to be is not a big jump from that point of view.
Then there are the men. I never expect men to read me because they simply do not do it. I do not know why that is for sure. Maybe they can not get past my breasts. Maybe they just do not want to. Maybe the image of the ideal female form clouds their vision. Or maybe (what I think is most likely) men have been bombarded from every area of life their whole lives with images of women as sexual conquests that they do not possess the instinct to look past a girl’s body and the possible pleasures it affords.
Men do read me from time to time. The last time a man read me, I was in line at the pharmacy. Two men with the remains of a day at a construction site on them were in line as well. As I stood waiting for the pharmacist to fill my prescription, I heard them discussing me. Or more accurately, my body. They liked what they were viewing. After a few minutes of their admiration, I proceeded to the counter to pick up my RX. Doing so I must have turned or walked in some way that gave me away. As I signed for my meds, I heard one of them say, “Hey, I think that might be a guy.”
Not being able to predict how a man will react to that news, I paused in what I was doing and listened closely for his companion’s reply. It was a reply that made me feel good and still makes me giggle when I think about it. It just goes to show that there is indeed hope for all transgendered people.
“Hey, I think that might be a guy.”
“I don’t care.”
Blessed be.
by Raven Usher
Every transgendered person who ventures out into public while displaying an outward image of their gender dysphoria faces the prospect of being read. Being “read” is when we are recognized as gender other than what we are trying to display. It does not matter how well we pass or how often we pull it off. Sooner or later, we will be read. It is inevitable. Someone somewhere is going to be able to tell.
Any transgender, M to F or F to M, who considers being viewed publicly has to come to terms with the idea of being read. It is a fact of tranny life. Ironically, being read is not the unnerving thing. What scares TG’s the most is not knowing how that person who reads us is going to react. Will they be accepting? Will they ignore us? Will they spout off disparaging insults? Will they be violent?
Another huge concern is where will we be when we are read. Having it happen in a crowded mall is a minor concern. It is easy to get lost in a crowd that big. And the chances of someone getting violent with that many people around is extremely low. Being read in a half empty dark parking lot on they way back to your car after an evening at the club is a truly terrifying thought. That is why you do not typically see trannies closing down the bars.
It never fails to surprise me about where I am when I get read or who it is that recognizes me. Most of the time it is other women who read me. Women have the eye for a “true” female form instead of the Playboy Bunny ideal that men foster. Women will also look beyond deep cleavage and shapely legs to observe body language and mannerisms. The funny part is that they never read me when I am doing stereotypical female activities. They do not spot me when I am shopping for groceries, getting my hair done, or in a form fitting bathing suit while swimming at the YMCA. I get read at the hardware store buying home repair items or at the firing range popping off a few rounds.
Another large portion of the people who read me are children. Kids have that wonderful ability to look at the world without the prejudice or peer pressure of societal expectations. They can see the fairies in the garden and friendly ghosts that play with them when the adults are too busy. So why would they not see me? A child’s world is one of endless possibilities and seeing me for what I use to be is not a big jump from that point of view.
Then there are the men. I never expect men to read me because they simply do not do it. I do not know why that is for sure. Maybe they can not get past my breasts. Maybe they just do not want to. Maybe the image of the ideal female form clouds their vision. Or maybe (what I think is most likely) men have been bombarded from every area of life their whole lives with images of women as sexual conquests that they do not possess the instinct to look past a girl’s body and the possible pleasures it affords.
Men do read me from time to time. The last time a man read me, I was in line at the pharmacy. Two men with the remains of a day at a construction site on them were in line as well. As I stood waiting for the pharmacist to fill my prescription, I heard them discussing me. Or more accurately, my body. They liked what they were viewing. After a few minutes of their admiration, I proceeded to the counter to pick up my RX. Doing so I must have turned or walked in some way that gave me away. As I signed for my meds, I heard one of them say, “Hey, I think that might be a guy.”
Not being able to predict how a man will react to that news, I paused in what I was doing and listened closely for his companion’s reply. It was a reply that made me feel good and still makes me giggle when I think about it. It just goes to show that there is indeed hope for all transgendered people.
“Hey, I think that might be a guy.”
“I don’t care.”
Blessed be.
No comments:
Post a Comment