TR@NNY

Feels like who I am is the only quality about me people seem to grasp onto. Whether negative or positive, my identity has become every aspect of every conversation about who I am.

Every comment at work, every fight at home, every stranger saying hateful things on social media posts. Even when people come up to me to ask questions, curious about my existence. Everything revolves around being a tranny.

Which is ironic because I guarantee it’s the least interesting thing about me. Maybe, like my boyfriend says, it’s how I present myself to the world; it attracts the wrong kind of attention. Perhaps he’s correct; why do I dress like I do anyway?

Maybe it started when I was molested, and my father said it was because of how I dressed. But even innocent Gia enjoyed wearing booty shorts. In part, it’s probably because it gets me attention, no matter the kind.

Attention that I learned from a young age was the love I was lacking from a disappointed father. Love my mother only ever tried to buy. Love became a man touching me. Love became needing a man to be inside me in order to feel wanted and appreciated.

Call that sexual trauma at a young age, but doesn’t it go beyond all that? Or is it really so simple? Just a fourteen-year-old teen crying out for love, pretending to be so tough. Funny because I cry so much now.

But on the contrary of my perspective of what I’m looking for. Men’s obsession with a tranny is all physical; their want for a feminine being that’ll still bend them over behind closed doors. So therefore, my existence to straight men is only a physical need, nothing much beyond that. Something I’d quickly learn trying to explore dating “straight” men.

I could exist as a woman to them but only at night when we could come out to play because everyone else is asleep. Being a freak or a misfit has that effect in general on people beyond just being a tranny. I just have the trifecta. A freak, a tranny, a misfit. So many are obsessed; few actually want to associate with us, even if they are swiping on my stories, hearting my pictures.

Tranny porn is the most popular after all. They all love to jerk off to us but won’t get seen with us in public. They can’t afford to be emasculated by their friends for liking “a girl used to be a dude”.

Beyond ironic, mostly sad that this is your average experience trying to exist. Unfortunately for us, we tend to be traumatized one way or another, and our sex lives unhealthy. We think they’ll see us differently because of how they treat us in bed. But at the end of the day, we are just trannies.

But it ain’t all bad, I learned true love is beyond physical, beyond sex and how I feel. It’s a bond that creates a friendship that’s indestructible. The man that truly loves me sees me as simply a human he loves. The man that doesn’t tell me I’m hot when I’m begging for attention all skin out on display. The man that reminds me of my beauty when I am covered up. The man who tells me I’m worth more than the preying eyes on my body. To exood the kinda of energy I want to attract.

In the end, to all that may continue to treat me as if I am just my identity, I am more than just a tranny,

I am Gia.