Back to my trademark “asymmetrical” haircut, courtesy of my stylist I’ve been going to for 17 years! (The ends are flying from the intense humidity here)
This was the longest my hair had ever been in my adult life since I’ve ALWAYS had short hair.
Hey Morgan! I was wondering how you've experienced trans centered attraction over the years and how it's changed perhaps throughout transition and the years. for example, did your attraction for ftms develop after being out in the community or did it happen differently? also how have you seen the t4t community change throughout the years? i've only been out for 6ish years so i have no concept of the time before that sincerely, #ftm4mtf4life
As you well know, I appreciate any opportunity to wax poetic about my masc-loving ways. So I’m happy to field these questions and give you the low down on the T4T moment.
I got into the mascs seven years ago. Let me back up a little. When I first transitioned as a teen - this was in the Bronze Age, when livejournal was king - I was a deep stealth woman (girl) of trans experience. Back then, the MTF and FTM worlds were rigidly divided, and I was only marginally aware of FTMs even existing. I did have a minor curiosity about two mascs back then - one of whom is now a well known go-go boy in Toronto, the other of whom has a tragic tale of ftm4mtf widower woes that obviously given my own background I highly relate to - but in general I was all about cis men (side note: I was a member of ftmundressed on LJ, though, so there was certainly some foreshadowing). However, my dreams about finding the perfect str8 cis man were met with the reality that mostly only chasers and nerds are into trans women, and they’re almost all bottoms and rarely will treat a trans woman as a viable partner.
Like many trans ladies, early on I dipped my toes into the T4T pool - but on the mtf4mtf side! I dated this girl, who is now my lifelong sister, and she was dating this trans dude who I developed a mild crush on. Anyways, suffice to say, lesbian life was not for me (I have tried and tried, but alas, I am hardwired to want MEN, and also anyone else who is masculine enough like certain butches).
I did manage to wife up with one lovely man (although, it should be noted that he is kind of a they and calling him a man has always been a stretch). We lived together for several years and it was a the period of greatest stability in my life. He’s like a brother to me now. But that was also the problem: he became more like a brother. Around the time that I began realizing that, I got involved in trans community for the first time, leaving my deep stealth life behind. So, I promptly fell in love with this masc I was running a support group alongside. After nearly a year of the most awful relationship drama I have ever been through even to this day, I finally got over this first masc, but I was hooked!
It was like I had finally found exactly what I wanted! Not in that “best of both worlds” gross cis way - just more in that I found a pool of men I could actually enjoy getting to know, who wouldn’t be chasers and also wouldn’t have to be the very specific type of nerd who is for some reason always into trans women, and with whom I could have the best sex of my damn life. And I haven’t gone back since. It’s trans men for me, from here on out. (Confession: I actually have tried to kick the habit a few times but I find sex with cis str8 men so deeply unsatisfying now that I’ve been spoiled by A+ trans man sex that I just cannot bring myself to give up trans mascs - I could go on and on about this, but this message is already too long).
T4T has always been a thing - even way back in the 1940s with Roberta Cowell and poor unfortunate Laurence Michael Dillon. I would say that back when I came out, it was mostly (and really, still is) mtf4mtf and ftm4ftm. And I have so many thoughts about that, but you’ll have to track me down IRL for the scoop on that one! The big game changer is our own dear Hussy - her column for PrettyQueer.com and her Tumblr dearhussy played a big role in establishing a specific sexual identity, with attendant lingo. Certainly it did for me and most of the people I know!
Though our love that dare not speak its acronym has always been a thing, it seems really only since The Hussy’s existence that there’s been a gradual shift to treating T4T as its own thing, rather than as simply being subsumed into gay, lesbian, or str8 identity. The Hussy (and also myself) began articulating a cosmopolitan sexual identity specifically without relation to cis people as a positive, rather than as a compromise/second best as it had previously been viewed.
This happened at the same time that, post-Whipping Girl, trans communities finally started to slowly become more integrated. Whereas in the past I would usually be the only trans lady at the queer dance party, now there were dozens of them with asymmetrical haircuts! And with all of this mingling, mtf4ftm was bound to happen eventually. And now it’s almost becoming an actual Moment - which is wonderful, although I feel slightly less special being not the first trans lady many of my gentlemen callers have dated before.
So that is a brief history, both personal and communal, of the T4T. As I’ve seen it, anyways. Good luck with the ladies!
*whispers shouts* write about the first ransom watches holster perform!
Hoo boy this sort of grew a mind of its own. (Amazon Eve was a real person, btw. She was a Tall Woman for a circus. Maybe Holster read abt her and decided to use the name, idk man)
Ransom isn’t sure what to expect when Holster invites him to one of his gigs. Like, yeah, sure, he knows that Holster does drag, and Ransom is cool with it. He also know that Holster loves to sing along to music, but lip syncing? He didn’t even know that it was a real thing, that people paid money to see a dude in a wig mouth the words to a Celine Dion song, or whatever kind of music it is that they like. Beyoncé, maybe? Diana Ross? Who knows.
Ransom has to remind himself that technically, he is one of “them” now. That if he is dating Holster, yes, he’s one of “them”. Sort of. He’d never really felt anything for another guy until Holster. Does that make him one of “them”? He’ll have to ask someone at the club. He hopes he doesn’t offend anyone.
He’s just very nervous.
Ransom was hurt, at first, when he found out that Holster did drag and hadn’t told him until senior year. Well, technically, Ransom had come across a blonde wig underneath the bunk bed, and confronted Holster about it. He kinda gets it now, though. They share everything, but sometimes a dude’s gotta have something that’s only his. Like Ransom’s security blanket, which Holster still doesn’t know about. It has a hedgehog pattern on it and he’s had it since first grade. He keeps it under his mattress and brings it out when he gets an anxiety attack and can’t get Holster to help him.
Ransom feels bad now, for taking that something from Holster, but because his boyfriend is the most thoughtful, friendliest giant ever, he’s letting Ransom be a part of his own, metaphorical “security blanket”.
He walks into the club, feeling extremely out of place. It’s not quite what he expected. Where he had imagined dancing twinks high on ecstasy was a small stage with a crowd of people around it. Girls, boys; boys dressed as girls; girls dressed as boys; androgynous beings with asymmetrical haircuts; and one small group of giggling, drunk women that seemed to be having a bachelorette party.
Onstage, there’s a queen who was lip syncing to a Rihanna song that Ransom forgot the name of. She’s curvy, her wig is pink, and her makeup is clown-like. She keeps doing splits and shit while still managing to keep up with the music. It does look harder than Ransom though it was. She somehow manages to take the dollar bills people are holding out for her without her performance being boring.
The song ends and people clap and cheer for her. She smiles and curtsies, then jumps offstage and heads for the bar in the corner. She’s visibly exhausted, and Ransom considers texting Jack to tell him what a good workout lip syncing seems to be.
Ransom prays to God that Holster is good at this. He doesn’t think he can lie to Holster if he asks if Ransom enjoyed the show.
He shoves his way to the front of the crowd and feels in his pocket to make sure that the crumpled dollar bills are still there. Holster had told him that it was considered rude to show up and not give the performers a tip. He’s going to have to give Pink Hair a few bucks after Holster’s done.
A bearded person in a cocktail gown walks onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Alright, give it up for Donatella Soul, everybody.” The audience cheers, and Ransom claps politely. “Now this next performer is very special to us, she’s funny, she’s sexy, and she’s six fuckin’ feet, four inches tall.”
That’s gotta be Holster.
“Make some noise for Amazon Eve, the World’s Tallest Woman!” The crowd whoops in excitement.
Ransom breathes a sigh of relief. At least it seems like Holster is good at this. Ransom probably won’t have to die of second-hand embarrassment tonight.
Holst- whoops; Eve steps onstage, and if Ransom felt short standing next to Holster before, he feels absolutely minuscule now. How the hell does he- fuck; she stay upright with those heels on? They look like they could take somebody’s eye out, with how skinny and tall they are. She’s opted to show off those crazy-long, toned legs with jean shorts, and it even looks like she shaved. Now Ransom knows why Holster sometimes doesn’t have any hair on his legs, chest, or armpits. He’d always been confused by that, but had never remembers to ask. Usually, when he noticed, he was preoccupied with…other things.
Also, where the hell did she put her dick? Holster isn’t really known for being small. Ransom decides that he’d rather not know. Her makeup looks very minimal, and her blonde wig doesn’t look brushed. It also looks like Eve didn’t bother padding, like Pink Hair did. Sure, yeah, when it comes to Holster’s backside, Ransom knows why he wouldn’t bother with pads, but Eve is flat-chested, too, with a tiny, strapped, Hello Kitty crop top that reveals that six-pack that Ransom loves, but it doesn’t exactly scream “woman”. Actually, Ransom takes that back. If Shitty was here, she’d yell at him because “a woman doesn’t look any particular way, they all have different types of bodies.” and “being a woman has nothing to do with what body you have.”. Ransom sends a telepathic apology to Shitty.
But even though Eve doesn’t look very “dragged out”, somehow it all comes together and looks amazing. Like some androgynous; skateboarder movie star, which makes no sense to Ransom, but that’s the vibe he’s getting.
Eve is looking down at Ransom and smiling. ‘Hi,’ she mouths, winking.
Ransom’s face feels hot. “Hey,” He murmurs, smiling back.
Eve picks up the mic and turns to the audience.
“Oooo!” A short boy with green hair and dimples nudges Ransom. “She likes you! Lucky!” He says enviously.
Ransom laughs. “I hope so.” He turns his attention back to the stage.
Eve is sitting in a chair, her guitar in her lap. The mic is now on a stand, pointed towards her. “I thought we’d start with an Amazon Eve original, yeah?” The audience cheers in agreement.
Holster/Eve is an amazing performer. Time flies by without Ransom - who’s usually always checking his phone compulsively for the time - even noticing. Eve sings a few songs, which are hilarious; “Bisexual Drag Queen” and “Gay Hanukkah” might be Ransom’s favorites. She lip syncs to “Pussy” by Lady, tells jokes, collects money from the audience, and even does a magic trick.
Ransom feels something that feels a lot like pride swelling in his chest. He has the crazy urge to jump up onstage and yell “that’s my boyfriend!”, but instead, he just holds out five dollars.
Eve comes to him last, and instead of taking the money with her hands, she bites down on the dollar bills and gently drags them out of Ransom’s hands, smirking.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Ransom glares, without any true malice behind it.
Eve just laughs, blows a kiss to the crowd, and hops offstage. “C'mon, let’s get drunk,” She says, grabbing Ransom’s hand and leading him over to the bar.
Ransom sees that green-haired guy gaping at them and shrugs, smiling.
Eve or Hoster - what does Ransom call them now that the show is over? God, he doesn’t know anything about gay culture - takes off their wig and tosses it onto a barstool, sitting in the one next to it. Ransom follows their lead and takes a seat next to them. “Am I allowed to call you Holster yet?” He asks, leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“Yeah. What do you want to drink?” Holster motions to the tattooed bartender.
“I don’t know. Alcohol?”
Holster snorts. “Okay, I’ll order for you.” He asks the bartender for two of the house-brewed beers.
Ransom reaches for his wallet, but Holster motions for him to put it away.
“Please, dude, talent drinks for free.”
“You’re the talent, bro, not me.” Ransom says, continuing to pull out his wallet.
“Yeah, but you’re screwing the talent, so the talent can at least get you a free drink.” Holster waves away the wallet again. “Plus, you gave me money, which was completely unnecessary, dude.”
“You told me to bring money for the performers!”
“For the other girls, brah; you don’t have to give me anything. We pretty much share a piggybank anyways.”
“True.” Ransom pauses. “Hey, you were good up there.”
“Really?” Holster smiles and blushes, which is…new. Holster’s never asked Ransom for affirmation before.
“Chyeah, dude. You were great, actually.” Ransom kisses Holster’s cheek.
They finish their drinks and head out for the Haus. As they walk out the club door, Ransom pauses. “Hang on, dude, I forgot something.”
Ransom jogs back over to the bar. “Uh, Donatella?” He asks Pink Hair.
She smiles up at him. “Yeah, sugar?”
He holds out the rest of his money: three dollars. “Here.”