Christmas sadly wasn’t as harmonious as I had wished for. On the 24th, we made it through dinner and half-way through the unwrapping (which actually is always a moment of pure embarrassment for me) until my brother finally made a remark about my nails. I still have them done at intervals of about 6 weeks and in the meantime I take care of them by myself (most times just putting on fresh polish). We already had way too much conversation about my nails and I’ve already been thinking about just quitting it to keep the peace, no matter how sad this would make me. It was John who intervened when I had thought about that aloud. He told me that if I’d really love my gurlish nails, then for fuck’s sake I should keep on having them done and pay no attention to others. Uhm, yes. Easier said than done, if it’s your brother grouching at you everytime you speak to him, right?
So on the 24th I could feel my brother wanting to make remarks from the moment on I stepped through the door. When he finally couldn’t resist any longer, it was like sitting in a cold rain. He asked whether I wanted to be a girl. What should I say? No, not really. But on the other hand, I think I won’t ever be what I call an Alpha. It took years to arrive at this certain point in my life where I finally feel comfortable with this “weak” side of me, having named her Ginny, and living it out. He said if I didn’t want to be a girl, then I was sending out the wrong signals. He asked John whether he had forgotten that I’m a man. John reacted as polite and superior as ever and told him that he loves who I am and not the mere fact that I’m a man. My brother and John are best friends and I guess he dares to speak to him quite frankly. And I sure can’t. It just made me sad to be questioned, and I grew more and more silent, until I could feel I was drifting away, not feeling myself anymore.
I went to the toilet, sat on their bath tub, regarding my nails. I had the thought of ripping them off, no matter how, and just to suit my brother. But those nails stick firmly to mine, and it did not work. When I returned to them, it was hard not to burst out in tears. John saw and understood how I felt and took my hand.
When we were in the car finally, I told him I felt so much pressure and self-disgust that I was about to hurt myself. He told me to put my hands on my knees while he was driving us home, then he said something I’ll never forget. “It doesn’t matter what they see in you. The most important thing is what you yourself see when you look into the mirror. And what I see as well…”. I dared to ask what that was. “My beloved. Und mein braves Pferdchen, oder?”. Right. And I got a stiffy.
Most times I can accept that we live in a world where we are told who and how we are more often than we’re allowed to find out for ourselves. But sometimes I feel so lost and lonely, not being able to play the role I’m supposed to play due to the mere fact that I was born with a penis. Don’t get me wrong, I like having a dick, but it seems to me that just having this organ means I’m expected to behave in a certain way which doesn’t come naturally to me. I feel better when I’m more Ginny, at least at the moment, and I like the shrinkage of my cock as I have already written. I really adore transgirls, but I’m not trans, just a guy who likes to be someone’s gurl.
I wish my brother could just understand that.