Daddy's Day tomorrow. I get different associations than most on this day, not having grown up with a father. I'll burn a candle for him, and my hands will be otherwise full as I have a date.
I cleaned my room. My toys are organized and readily accessible. There will be snack options.
What fun would being a pervert be if I couldn't pervert Hallmark sales day?
(Except I do need to call my brother too, and I'm pretty sure I don't really need to get into a another porn-site conversation with him. That was just weird.)
Gotta have a treat for Daddy's Day though, that's what I think. To show appreciation. After all, we don't have a Mistress Appreciation Day (M.A.D.--chuckle) or a Bring Your Sub to Work Day. Gotta stay on my toes. Fundamentally, I'm a good boy (not to be confused with being a hard man, a cold woman, a sissy, or a precocious, coercive girl, cause I'm all of those things too).
People don't always get my genderfluid. Sometimes I wonder if they think I am harboring a delusion about a growing penis that POOF! magically and conveniently turns into Snuffle-Upagus mist upon contact with menstrual blood or something. I mean something different when I say I am genderfluid. I mean that whatever I might be feeling (which changes frequently) the fact is that I get read in different ways all the time. It means that I'm safer in a men's room (I've had security called on me in the women's), but less comfortable. I use the women's locker room at the gym--but if I'm packing, I remove the prosthesis in a bathroom stall before undressing (and I have to walk through a lot of stares and double-takes until I get naked). I don't designate a pronoun because neither one describes me accurately and 'ze' just hasn't taken hold yet. I pass least effectively with other Black men because of my lack of facial hair, height, muscle and an ass that could be a serving tray for a cocktail waitress, but I understand some of them in a way that others can't and they can tell. High school girls hit on me. So do straight women. And gay men. At 'women's' gatherings, I am always vaguely uncomfortable--we can't have that conversation about what to do when your dick falls out on the floor of the movie theater when you get up for popcorn (Welcome,![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
papipaulforrest, and thank you for picking up my johnson for me all those years ago and not laughing until I was over my embarrassment.) And it's not that I need to have that conversation with everyone, but I suffer their assumptions, yet there's little ground for them to have to suffer mine. (Over fondue: "Tiger, I've been keeping my dick in my panty drawer next to my birth control pills and it picks up lint like crazy--your dick always looks so clean and dry when I see you at the urinal--do you use talcum?" "Oh heavens no, that'll kill you deader than a dog turd, Ellen, what you want is a sprinkling of corn starch and a swath of silk to wrap your dick in for storage in your panty drawer...speaking of which I've got a run in these hose I've got on under my Carharts. Could I borrow some nail polish from you so it doesn't run all the way up?")
No. I don't have conversations like that--but maybe I'd like to.
Genderqueer. Genderfluid.
Whatever is going on in my pants is nothing compared to what is going on in people's heads.
I cleaned my room. My toys are organized and readily accessible. There will be snack options.
What fun would being a pervert be if I couldn't pervert Hallmark sales day?
(Except I do need to call my brother too, and I'm pretty sure I don't really need to get into a another porn-site conversation with him. That was just weird.)
Gotta have a treat for Daddy's Day though, that's what I think. To show appreciation. After all, we don't have a Mistress Appreciation Day (M.A.D.--chuckle) or a Bring Your Sub to Work Day. Gotta stay on my toes. Fundamentally, I'm a good boy (not to be confused with being a hard man, a cold woman, a sissy, or a precocious, coercive girl, cause I'm all of those things too).
People don't always get my genderfluid. Sometimes I wonder if they think I am harboring a delusion about a growing penis that POOF! magically and conveniently turns into Snuffle-Upagus mist upon contact with menstrual blood or something. I mean something different when I say I am genderfluid. I mean that whatever I might be feeling (which changes frequently) the fact is that I get read in different ways all the time. It means that I'm safer in a men's room (I've had security called on me in the women's), but less comfortable. I use the women's locker room at the gym--but if I'm packing, I remove the prosthesis in a bathroom stall before undressing (and I have to walk through a lot of stares and double-takes until I get naked). I don't designate a pronoun because neither one describes me accurately and 'ze' just hasn't taken hold yet. I pass least effectively with other Black men because of my lack of facial hair, height, muscle and an ass that could be a serving tray for a cocktail waitress, but I understand some of them in a way that others can't and they can tell. High school girls hit on me. So do straight women. And gay men. At 'women's' gatherings, I am always vaguely uncomfortable--we can't have that conversation about what to do when your dick falls out on the floor of the movie theater when you get up for popcorn (Welcome,
papipaulforrest, and thank you for picking up my johnson for me all those years ago and not laughing until I was over my embarrassment.) And it's not that I need to have that conversation with everyone, but I suffer their assumptions, yet there's little ground for them to have to suffer mine. (Over fondue: "Tiger, I've been keeping my dick in my panty drawer next to my birth control pills and it picks up lint like crazy--your dick always looks so clean and dry when I see you at the urinal--do you use talcum?" "Oh heavens no, that'll kill you deader than a dog turd, Ellen, what you want is a sprinkling of corn starch and a swath of silk to wrap your dick in for storage in your panty drawer...speaking of which I've got a run in these hose I've got on under my Carharts. Could I borrow some nail polish from you so it doesn't run all the way up?")No. I don't have conversations like that--but maybe I'd like to.
Genderqueer. Genderfluid.
Whatever is going on in my pants is nothing compared to what is going on in people's heads.
thankful
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