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writefinch · 4 years ago

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Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

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wickymicky · 3 years ago

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ive been feeling lately that im not sure i’ll ever transition. like idk if i’ll ever come out publicly. i dont want to. im certainly not ready for that now, and like partly because i still dont know what id even necessarily come out as. and its okay if i dont know, but obviously people are gonna ask. not everyone will think it’s okay if i don’t know, lol. and like.... idk. my friends will know. i’ll be me online, like here on this blog. but i’m not sure i’ll ever transition publicly. my sister is trans and is transitioning, on hormones, wearing clothes that express her gender better, that she never used to wear before, so she’s making a lot of changes and becoming happier for it. and going by her new name publicly now, which previously she wasn’t, i was one of the only people who knew it. but i can tell that that’s not me.

whether i’m a girl or like none binary with left girl... either way... a transition for me wouldnt really involve changes to my physical appearance, except i guess taking hormones and shaving my face all the time instead of lazily letting my facial hair grow out even though i hate it and i think it looks and feels bad to have. but like... i wouldnt grow my hair out... i had long hair when i was in high school, longer than plenty of cis girls i was friends with haha. and eh, been there done that. no thanks. i dont wanna change how i dress because tbh i dress like... nothing. like really plain. the plainest things. and i wouldnt change that lol, i dont care. that’s a personality thing, not a gender thing. if i was born a cis girl, i feel like i would look exactly like i do now, dressing the same and with the same haircut. and on a cis girl, that might be very visibly queer haha, but.. i’m not a cis girl. so i dont even know what a transition would like... be. hormones i guess, but tbh i dont feel like they’d do a lot for me.

testosterone makes afab people change in very noticeable ways, sometimes very fast, they start growing facial hair, building muscle differently, and their voices change. estrogen wouldnt change my voice, alter my overall shape all that much, or make facial hair stop growing. id get boobs i guess, but like, shrug, if that’s the only thing i would be doing it for, then it’s probably not what’s right for me. estrogen does make a lot of trans women feel a lot better about themselves and im not knocking that lol, i’m just talking about how this all pertains to me. top surgery for trans guys is relatively simple, they have a thing that they dont want and it can be removed relatively easily. i know it’s not actually easy, it’s expensive and hard to get and there’s always gonna be risk involved with stuff like that, but like compared to trans surgeries involving genitals, it’s a relatively simple one right? i think most trans guys who have top surgery dont necessarily have bottom surgery in any way, but just that first one, top surgery, makes such a noticeable visible difference and is a great weight off their shoulders, pun intended. im not interested in bottom surgery either, like, i mean im not wild about my thing, but im not interested in doing anything with that. but i dont have anything to chop off above my waist lmao, only things i think it would be neat if i had, haha. so basically what im saying is.... the list of changes i would even make to my physical appearance is like.... actually really small. and not because i love myself and am content with everything, cause im not. sigh. i just wish i had been born as a cis girl from birth. testosterone is too powerful and i wish it never ran amok through my body lmao, cause like i cant really undo all the stuff it did, not easily anyway. and the ways that we can undo those changes... arent things that i would be comfortable with. so im just left.... uncomfortable. that’s why trans guys transition so drastically... testosterone really fucks you up hahaha

hmmm. idk. i feel like the only thing a transition would really entail for me, at this stage in my life, is just people calling me Gwen in person. and using they/them or she/her, i guess. but i dont think i’m ready for that. that thought scares me. ive heard it sometimes in person, via my boyfriend (who is also trans, and transitioned before we started dating), and that can be nice, but i dont think im ready for my family or strangers to call me Gwen. i like it online because none of you know what i look like. i can be myself because none of you have preconceived notions about me... all you know is what you see when i say things online, which is great. in person though, im not sure im ready to handle the judgment and confused looks and suffer through every time someone goes “Wi- uh, i mean Gwen” like my mom still does with my sister. she’s trying, but she calls her her deadname like 50% of the time or more, and like i just.... idk. obviously she calls me my birthname too, because she doesnt even know my new name, but the fact that she doesnt know it means that it doesnt really bother me when she calls me my birthname. if she knew it, and said my deadname, even by accident, it would just be like... idk... a whole thing.... you know? i wouldnt correct her necessarily, not all the time anyway, but she might correct herself and idk that just seems like something i would feel really awkward experiencing, i dont think im ready for all that. especially cause like... and this is the big reason..................................... i dont feel like Gwen. not physically, anyway. i feel like Gwen when i’m online cause i can just *be* Gwen, but physically... if im in my room, by myself, it’s fine, but when i’m around people i *really* don’t feel like Gwen. because i havent transitioned i guess, but like... idk. i just really dont wanna draw too much attention to myself. i talk a lot on here, but i’m an anxious person, i’m shy, i’m very introverted, etc.

idk, i think i had more to say, but this is just kind of a ramble, and i lost my train of thought. i think im done for now lol. i’m just venting. you dont need to message me and console me or anything, i’m not doing bad right now, i’m doing fine. i’m just thinking out loud. but im not distraught or whatever, dont worry haha. and this isnt stuff that it like hurt to admit... cause its stuff ive been thinking about for a long long time haha. so yeah dont worry, im okay. im just posting this because it helps to get thoughts out of your head, you know?

#personal

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yellowpoet · 5 years ago

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Hey ive just noticed that your blog name and description have changed. And it says they/them? How did you figure that out? I think I'm non-binary but I'm not sure and I really look up to you so if you don't mind talking about it can you please share your experience? If not then sorry for bothering and have a wonderful sunny day!

hey! of course I don’t mind talking about it :>

so first of all, questioning your gender/thinking you aren’t your assigned gender at birth is a trait of not being cis - you don’t have to have a checklist of signs you need to mark off before you’re Definitely Not Cis, chances are if you think you’re not you aren’t!

Personally, as assigned female at birth, I have a difficult relationship with gender. So much of “femininity” in the “traditional sense” is about making yourself available to men, putting men at the centre of your life, every aspect from your personality (submissive to bow to husbands will, protective/caring to look after children, good cook to make food for family,) to your looks (pretty so a good wife, attractive so fuckable,) and i’m just Not About That?

and I do think as well that sexuality does play into gender, as a wlw my understanding and experience of being a girl and of femininity in general is completely different to that of a straight cis girl or a cis straight guy’s perception/’love’ of girls/femininity. But I think lgbt+ people in general are just completely different to straight/cis people in their understanding and perception of gender because it’s not generally something that they’ve put as much thought and introspection into as your average lgbt+ person has

and I appreciate women and girls and the culture; the supportive network of friends and the of-course-you-can-have-my-last-hairtie and the whispered theres someone following you pretend we’ve been friends for years and the drunk girls in club bathrooms giving me life advice but i just have this Absolute Disconnect from the stereotypical femininity presented by society and movies and books etc

I use they/them because I feel this disconnect from gender as a whole concept really. I’m probably non-binary, or feminine-aligned non-binary or something; I just feel like I’m ME, why does my me have a gender?? it seems most of the time inconsequential as a concept to me.

Online I am perceived as my words and my words only which I really like. A lot of the time I hate having a corporeal form and I think some of that does tie into being weird about my gender, I much prefer it when people make a judgement of me based on what I say and my personality. I like being this amorphous whorl in people’s heads because they’ve never seen me, so they can’t know what I look like, and that’s why I like using they/them I guess? If you saw me in real life you’d immediately peg me as a girl because i present quite ‘feminine’ and my real name is a feminine one.

But idk, the whole concept of gender is strange to me, because obviously the divide of (as a random couple of examples) girls are soft and like art & boys are tough and like science is stupid. because boys can be soft and like art and girls can be tough and like science, right?

so what makes someone a boy or a girl? obviously not biology because thats assigned sex not gender, so it’s a societal presentationy thing - its not like I want to be neither because I have girl traits and boy traits because there ARE no boy or girl traits because thats plain ol sexism

but at the same time I like being a girl, sometimes I very much feel like a Woman, because I have decided what woman means to me, and my gender is Mine and its customisable as I want because it’s an extension of myself, like my hair is mine to cut and dye my gender is mine to,,, idk do what I want with, in terms of names and pronouns and presentation

Ultimately this has been a really long ramble haha, but gender is weird and confusing and i’m just trying to work through it like we all are! also you saying you looked up to me actually brought a tear to my eye omg, ily anon

anyone feel free to add on with your experiences for anon’s benefit!

#yellow speaks #long post #gender #lgbt #non-binary #lgbt+#gender stuff #personal #Anonymous

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topconfessions · 3 years ago

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the more i look at Lis/Lalisa the more i believe they are a transgered person. everything in their appearance scream it, recently it is even more shockingly obvious because they somehow gain some definition where females don't like shoulders. definitely a ladyboy!

WOW. I've never heard this before ever.

But I 1000000% believe it and she gives me the feeling she is too. I just never thought about it too seriously. But I want to say let's be careful not to make any harmful or toxic judgements based on body parts. For instance this may offend people but I can't stand getring misgendered in real life as a man strictly cause I'm very tall like one (6'0-6'2) and cause of this I carry weight more easily than women of average height so I am not rail thin (not fat either) and I have shoulders that could be considered that way although I have a curvy feminine body minus my B cup semi flat chest. I could be dolled up to the fucking gods like a prissy girly girly and random adults or people will call me "him" in public either straight to my face or behind my back like "go stand next to him. Or ask him. See what he has to say" all cause of my heart. With todays LGBTQ heavy movement in all brutal honesty it's worse for me sometimes now cause unless I 100% go out in public super sexy or feminine dressed up clearly to display I am a woman (it will still happen sadly) I will get misgendered and nobody ever fucking stops to ask or correct themselves or even speak to me to see if I am a girl or man. I had some old white dude call me sir at my old job after asking me a question. It was noisy and all so I tried to give him a pass, especially since my uniform didn't do me justice but my hair and face clearly would show I am a woman. He thanked me yet called me sir still even after hearing my voice. If I wasn't fairly new at the time I would have told him off and put him in his place, old or not.

Basically its a doubledge sword a lot of people don't want to talk about, don't realize is happening or don't have the guts to be brave enough to speak on it. A lot of cis women have to deal with being called a man, get male shaming / bullying taunts thrown their way if they are born with masculine jawlines or features or "boy" bodies or like me, have to deal with folks constantly being asses by calling us men or guys deliberately in casual passing regardless of how we aesthetically present ourselves cause the truth is with today's accelerated push and liberation for all genders being treated fairly, you cannot tell who is who anymore. You geniunely cannot tell if a woman was actually born male or transitioning / finished transitioning etc if their work is really good. Even a feminine voice and no Adams apple doesn't mean shit anymore cause they have surgery to reduce that and if someone gets lucky they can alter their voice with training, being good at changing it or some extreme cases surgery but most don't touch their voice. I feel the general public pretends to be supportive and allies but at the expense of certain cis women.

In general I am attractive and seen as a woman obviously but I noticed when I get in the big city its a toss up. But when I'm in my hometown or locally, everyone calls me a woman / girl even when I look my worse or have shit frizzy hair tied into a low ponytail that could make me look like a boy. Even when I'm wearing a mask. Even if I dress androgynous I am referred to as a girl especially by male minorities.

I really don't care how everyone will interpret what I'm saying or if an anon will gaslight or attack me with a reach of "omg you expressed a negative experience you're anti you're phobic this and that" like I don't have transgender friends Ive helped transition through tough times myself. Anyways, that's just a small disclaimer I want to give hun.

I agree with you though and I wonder a lot now.

My shoulders are the way they are cause I am just very tall and large in stature but the rest of me if soft with curves even if I gain weight in the wrong places. I can't describe it but looking deep into Lisa eyes like the upper half of her face...as silly as it sounds I can feel a hidden andgrony from her. Like she could totally call herself "them they" tomorrow and pull it off well or he them.

I just gave shoulder disclaimer cause there are tall / tall plus size women / tall underweight thin women who may get their feelings hurt if they have very rough shoulders or attributes they can't help. No matter how much society tries to force us to feel a certian way about LGBTQ we all want acceptance for who we are and it would still hurt some to be called something they aren't and it doesn't mean it means something negative but y'know.

But as for Lisa I think she has an androgny to herself everyone isn't 100% aware of minus Blackpink same sex shipping. And If she or any other idol is secretly trans then it may be a Nikki Tutorials situation where transition was done early but her body is an obvious dead giveaway now that she was born a male. She practically could step allover Jeffree star and hes ironically petite as hell. I don't watch her anymore after that cause while I am happy she living her truth and free we all know she did it to expose herself first in the form of coming out for an uplifting moment cause she was being blackmailed in some messy drama and was about to get aired out.

Its never easy to come out but I would have earnestly respected her more and her journey if she geniunely shared that with us on her own genuine time like she shares about the death of her brother I believe?

Hate me all y'all want but I felt cheated, lied to and betrayed although I was happy to hear she was trans just so she can provide more exposure for trans make up artists out there. Like sis you really had us all thinking you were one of the girls and just a big girl with a condition we could relate to. We coule see ourselves directly in.

But to me and I will not say no offense, but this explains why Nikkis make up is so heavy and full coverage preferred.

SORRY I GOT OFF TOPIC BUT I ACTUALLY THINK YOU HAVE A POINT. Unless Lisa gets pregnant someday we will never know. You can take hormone therapy to ger natural breasts now. I've watched my trans best friend do it and she has practically the same chest size as me now although her voice is still fairly the same.

But again that can be faked too pregnancy. Unless in her older age Lisa does pregnancy photshoot or is caught at the beach with her bare stomach out, she could easily gain weight purposely and wear a bump.

But that's getting silly so I'll cut it off here.

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bootyprince999 · 6 years ago

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a conflict between a person's physical or assigned gender and the gender with which he/she/they identify. People with gender dysphoria may be very uncomfortable with the gender they were assigned, sometimes described as being uncomfortable with their body (particularly developments during puberty) or being uncomfortable with the expected roles of their assigned gender.Okay uh, sorry this has been rattling around in my brain for too long, and i already kNOW when some certain people read this they’ll probably spam me with reasons why i’m wrong but i can’t help but notice a trend in the people policing trans people and as a trans man i think i have to right to voice my opinion about it yes? no? Well it doesnt matter im doing it anyway.

(fair warning, if my wording is off or if sentences et confusing; the word im using is not the right definition, i apologize im just cranking this out and have a hard time with words getting mixed up anyways, gomen)

Alright so uh

I’m sure people who aren’t truscum have probably heard of truscum right? Trans-exclusionary feminists (usually) saying what trans people (predominantly trans MEN , this is important) must do/feel/think in order to really be trans. If they dont they get called transtrenders and cis women ‘crying out to feel important’

well alright theres lots to dissect here but just uh, its overwhelming at first glance. I mean, cis people telling trans people what to do in order to ‘really’ be trans is about at the same line of white people trying to tell really any poc how to be their race or something. Its asinine and just confusing?? I thought we were past this??

But most of these ‘truscum’ people are only really targeting trans-men. To say they’re targeting the trans community is a bit off because from what i’ve seen of them, (correct me if im wrong it’d make this even more interesting if they were harassing trans women too with their similar rhetoric) they’re creating terms for and attacking feminine presenting trans-men, calling them ‘tucutes’ (which im still fuzzy on the definition for mostly cause its just stupid) and also then again calling them just cis women trying to be cool or something. But i feel i should note not all truscum are just cis-women, some of them are trans-men as well which is surprising to me but also, with my experience as a trans-man im also kinda not surprised. I’ll get into that later.

So to start just, these ‘truscum’ people seem to have their main targets being trans-men but also nonbinary people as well, claiming that nb people are not trans and claiming that effeminate trans-men are not real men because men are not effeminate and to even be trans you have to have ‘dysphoria’ (which is technically right but, the definition truscum give is not really correct? pls stick with me on this ill explain) and how HRT makes you hyper masculine and so femm trans-men and nonbinary people should not try to or have any acess to it at all and it should be reserved for REAL trans men who wanna be very manly because HRT can and will only make u super masculine and theres absolutley no way you can use hormone therapy or reconstructive gender therapy to be androgynous as some nb people seek. (even though AMAB NB people haves used hormones to do this, and AFAB NB people have used hormones and surgery to do this as well. But you know, theyre really only attacking trans-men when they do this anyways so they probably dont know or care to know about that.)

Well lets sorta back track a second here on like, the basic definition of trans you get when u first tell kinda any doctor/counselor/therapist that you feel like youre a different gender. “Some trans people undergo hormone replacement or sexual reassignment surgery to help themselves align their bodies to their real gender, but some trans people don’t because they dont want to change their bodies and thats okay!” So yeah, even the oldschool mid ‘2010′ era definition doctors and people used made room for people who were okay with their bodies but still felt trans! Still felt like the classic “man trapped in a womans body” thing of whatever (even though thats a gross metaphor but you get my point)

So when did people suddenly decide that the definition was different? that trans people now should be uncomfortable and change their bodies otherwise their not trans? I don’t know when it started or why though i suspect with the few trans-men who are truscum it could have maybe started with things like this;

-the reddit term of transtrender coming up to invalidate trans people (again predominantly trans men) for their identity.

-the few trans people who do undergo transition and either through maybe doctors not giving them enough information and giving them a higher dose, their body not reacting to it well, or somehow getting acess to transitioning fast enough that they really were actually in a transitional period of their lives where perhaps they were feeling they were trans but were maybe going through something during that point in their lives, or perhaps the changes the HRT gave them were unsatisfying and they wanted something different. (This is usually pretty rare though considering most trans people have to undergo usually at least 4 years of waiting for any hormone treatment, which involves going through lots of doctors and therapists and having to really talk about how trans you are for years, and any sign of even being slightly loose in your definition of gender “i feel liek guys can like cute girl things too” can often get you pushed back for treatment. IDK where these people are getting fast acess to hormone treatment cause ive never found any)

- Trans-men who perhaps have internalized a lot of the toxic masculinity that can sometimes get pushed onto you trying to prove you’re enough of a man for people. Before the definition of truscum even exsisted i’ve had to deal with people like this face to face and it made me get a lot more aggresive standoffish and downright rude with people because i was just trying to act like what i thought men should act like. And given this was in my early teen years, what early teen males are fed of what men act like, i was a fucking nightmare yeah. I’ve seen some transmen who sorta internalize this stuff and get the woman-hating too, I had a time sort of in middleschool era where i was really gross about girls and their bodies and just, I can totally see transguys maybe buying into an idea of hating on feminine guys the same way cis guys hate on femm cis guys.

-the above could also include cis women so just, in general people with internalized misogyny because again, this is all so targeted at calling DFAB people not good enough and not trans enough

So yeah, theres obviously been some people unhappy with people and sort of misunderstanding things about being trans. But to be fair, a lot of the definitions of things relatng to being trans, esp the ‘dys-’ words have been left pretty confusing. So lets try to go over them and maybe now i can clear up why these ‘truscum’ people are both somewhat correct in saying you need to have dysphoria to be trans, but also not really because they sort of have their terms wrong...

dysphoria:”a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.” -Google

dysmorphia/body dysmorphia: “the obsessive idea that some aspect of one's own body part or appearance is severely flawed and warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix their dysmorphic part on their person.” -Wikipedia

Gender dysphoria: “a conflict between a person's physical or assigned gender and the gender with which he/she/they identify. People with gender dysphoria may be very uncomfortable with the gender they were assigned, sometimes described as being uncomfortable with their body (particularly developments during puberty) or being uncomfortable with the expected roles of their assigned gender.” -Psychiatry.org

So, according to the main definition of Gender Dysphoria, it can encompass both the feelings of dissatisfaction and almost detachment to life of Dysphoria and the detachment and detest of Body Dysmorphia. Also to have Dysmorphia you sort of have Dysphoria inherently with the way your quality of life and enjoyment of your own goes down with the fact you cant change something thats such a part of your being. Dysphoria and Dysmorphia playing in art with one another is especially common with trans people. So I think that these ‘truscum’ people are sort of confusing the definition of Gender Dysphoria. Theyre implying and pushing that it’s all about the “being uncomfortable with their body” when its both that and the “being uncomfortable with the expected roles of their assigned gender.”

So by definition, to be trans you do have to have Dysphoria, or particularly Gender Dysphoria yes. BUT, Gender Dysphoria does NOT mean hating and wanting to change your body for lots of trans people! Not liking being reffered to as a certain gender, or partaking in the behaviors expected of it, clothes, activities, jobs, items, milestones, if you feel detached from it and like its really not you that by definition means you have Gender Dysphoria and so you are trans. And yes NB are trans, tons of them relate to the definition of Gender Dysphoria both the Dysphoria and Dysmorphia parts of them.

I also feel like adding that to say that trans men or trans women need to be aligning completely with the gender they identify with (as both truscum and some doctors still do), there are plenty of cis-gender people who feel that gender is a bit fluid and that cis-men and cis-women can have traits of the other and behave sort of in the middle. So for trans people to not be able to do the same, when trans men are and often feel in the same ways that these cis men do, and vice vera for trans women, its kind of transphobic man. You’re putting up unreasonable and downright unnesesary ideals for trans people to uphold to prove themselves that cis-people don’t even have to. If cis-people can have a looser idea on gender expression and can have diff gender expression (expressing/dressing in a different gender while still feeling like the gender you identify/are born with) then trans people should to.

Like me, i’m a trans men who has feminine gender expression! Truscum would probably call me a trender or a ‘tucute’ for that. But, I have hORRIBLE Body Dysmorphia because of my Gender Dysphoria. Have since i was like 11, And i want to undergo both top and bottom surgery to alleviate it all. So, hows that for “fem trans guys are just tucutes, you have to have dysphoria to be trans” I have it and im still fem bitch.

But yeah, i just keep seeing so much of this, even from people i used to consider friends and just, i wanted to put my 2 cents in on it. If you have Gender related Dysphoria or Dysmorphia, you’re gonna know about it best. And if you dont want to have to have the scary part of de-transitioning because medical transition wasn’t right for you because you identifying as one thing was wrong and you actually identify as something different, I reccomend maybe sitting on those feelings before doing anything for like 5-7 years. Sounds like a long time, but i mean from when you first start getting the feelings of Gender Dysphoria and Dysmorphia. It’s still honestly so rare for people to detransition though and feel like a whole diff gender, ppl usually detransition when they feel like their hormones are going further than they want (and then later fix their dose with their doctor) of to avoid public shaming and are still trans so yeah.

Hopefully no ones too upset with this (unless theyre a terf or truscum) but yeah, thats my word on it.

#trans #t/w #transphobia #dysphoria #truscum

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