Editor’s Note: The following submission is from Rebecca E. Blanton (aka Auntie Vice). Have an LGBTQ+ related experience or story to share? Having your article published on this site will automatically enrol you into a raffle to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card. Submit an article today via queerdeermedia.com.
For me, well, I don’t “feel” like a woman. In fact, the DDs and the ability to skip in five inch stilettos just means I know how to work a great set of props. Just as my heels, my lashes and my tear-away panties are props, so are my breasts, my hips, my vagina and my soft jaw line. I have about as much attachment to the props I grew myself as the ones I picked up at a costume store.
The first time I recall being conscious of gender was when I was six. I was in the first grade in a small country grade school in southeast Idaho. The class was doing a play about the Founding Fathers. Because the play was written in the traditional American way, there were very few “girl” parts. My teacher took me into the hall when the other kids had a “free read” and told me that because there were no “girl” parts I needed to play George Washington. Her tone told me that I should be embarrassed or sad about this. For me, it meant I got to play THE Founding Father in the play. I wasn’t phased.
In my twenties, I spent a couple of years exploring the idea that I might be trans. I didn’t feel like a woman and some days I just wanted to put my breasts on the shelf and be done with them. Ultimately I realized I didn’t really want any permanent gender. I just wanted to be.