BendingGender
Posts: 176
Joined: 1/15/2007
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I'm just the tiniest bit reluctant to dip a toe into these waters, but I suppose there's no use having a voice if one never bothers to use it. I identify as transgendered. It took me a while to get here, and I'm nowhere near where I'd ideally like to be. But, as are most people, I'm just trying to navigate the rivers of life without getting caught in the undertow.
I can't - and won't - speak for everyone who reaches the conclusion that they're transgendered. But I can give those curious about it a single individual's perspective. The question of what it's like to top before and after came up. I can say two things with confidence right off the bat. I've always been dominant. And I've always been transgendered. That said, it didn't occur to me overnight. I think that the question should not be what it's like to top "before and after" so much as it ought to be "before and after personal enlightenment".
I remember feeling awkward as I grew up. Painfully embarrassed about my own form. Knowing with certainty that there was something wrong about me, but mini humans don't always have the capacity to sort through what they're feeling and thinking in order to reach any sort of logical conclusion. To make matters worse (or later on in life a whole lot better) I was also interested in BDSM concepts, though without overly sexualized components. I just knew that it was great fun to tie up the dolls I was given rather than have them play house. I knew that my interests were probably not the most normal, and so I would often spend my time with my back to my bedroom door, tying up and strapping down both male and female dolls to just about anything I could. I also tied up the neighbor kid using original NES controllers. Most regrettably he never returned.
As I got older, I did what seems to be fairly common for a lot of transgender people. I tried to fit myself into a mold. I tried to be what I thought it meant to be female. A sadistic, bisexual female… but a female none the less. I didn't understand femininity from a personal point of view because I never felt it. Never was able to internalize it. Dresses were impractical. Boobs were great to look at, but my own make me cringe. Make-up confounds me to this day.
My pantomime of a woman always made me feel a bit foolish, but when you're young and eager to experience new things you let bravado carry you as far as you can. When I was seventeen I snuck into a BDSM party at a dungeon. I saw things I'd only ever been able to dream about, and I knew I wanted more. I put on a show, acting a lot more confident than I felt. I tried to be as womanly as I could, without really knowing what that meant. But I wasn't over-the-top and garish. I won over a woman who became quite interested in becoming something of a mentor figure. When I revealed my age she fretted some. Her FemDom group had never allowed anyone under 21 to attend any of their meetings or play parties. Nevertheless, she asked when I would turn eighteen. I grew up playing mediator for a lot of family members, and I suppose that I'd developed enough intelligence and poise to convince this woman that I wasn't going to make her regret allowing me admission into her world. I and the friend that I had snuck into the party with became the youngest members of this woman's group.
I experimented. Played with a few people. Fumbled a bit, but found my way in terms of topping another. But I was still playing a part. I'm twenty-six now, and I still get carded for lottery tickets from time to time. So even after I'd turned eighteen I still looked like jailbait. I'm also only a few inches over five feet tall. While talking to people in the dungeon, I took pages from the books of FemDoms that I observed. I capitalized on my lack of stature and young features. No one suspects the quiet, sweetly smiling tiny girl to turn into something that makes stoic men sob. And that's exactly what I normally want to do when I top.
I co-topped with the same friend that I'd joined the FemDom group with. She's a switch, in that she likes being topped in bed, but likes equal footing more or less outside of it. During a scene, as a top, she's sarcastic and playful. She teases and taunts. I just keep smiling sweetly, and no one knows that it's the calm before the storm.
When she steps back to let me have a crack at the man who had approached us, she begins to giggle. She covers her mouth with both hands, but can't quite control herself. She knows what's coming. I adorn him with the clothespins he's brought, and he says nothing. Barely reacts. I'm what I like to call a "reactionist". If you're about as fun as beating on a brick wall I'll get bored very quickly. I like squeaks. Groans. Whimpers. I like watching someone shudder and twitch. I live to see them flinch, and then nervously laugh because they realize I haven't even started yet. Once this fellow was decorated appropriately I begin to lightly lay into him with a flogger. A crowd at the door has begun to gather. My friend has one of the most perfect sets of tits, and she enjoys flaunting her assets at play parties. Okay, pretty much anywhere she goes if I'm honest. I suspect that they're looking at her, and ignore them. My goal is to wring a reaction from this man. Only then will I be satisfied.
He's a leather-ass with a fondness for caning. He's had his hide tanned so many times that the skin has become thick. His back is a bit softer, but he's still got a high tolerance for impact play. I jazz it up a bit. I'm clearly only worried about his safety, and the blood flow to places like his nipples and balls, when I decide that it's time for the clothespins to come off. I take a step back, not one hundred percent sure if I can do what I'm imaging in my head. I take careful aim at a distance far enough back that I'm not going to so much as land a single fall. After a test swing or two, I'm more at peace. I get back into range and employ the use of the flogger to snap one of the clothespins from his balls. He stiffens so quickly that he rises to the balls of his feet as he rocks forward. A moment later I hear his breath hiss from him. I've gotten his attention. The rest I remove with my hand, tugging quickly rather than pinching them to remove them delicately. He hisses with each one, beginning to sniffle halfway through.
The crowd at the door continues to gawk for a while, only dispersing once I've gone back to simply flogging him. I like my shoulders and back to burn with exertion by the end of the night, or I'm restless and won't be able to sleep. An hour or so after the scene has concluded, and he's given me his number and email address, my friend returns to my side cackling. I ask her about it, and she excitedly informs me that I'm the topic of discussion in the kitchen area. The voyeurs are clustered there, talking about the tiny demon that someone's unleashed. A grinning, merciless pixie hell-bent, and successful, at making a man at least twice her size cry.
I play no differently than I did that night, unless I happen to be playing with a submissive more geared toward the softer aspects of a scene. The only difference now is that I don't do it in a skirt… and I'm a helluva lot more comfortable for it.
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Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it. ~Andre Gide
The future influences the present just as much as the past. ~Friedrich Nietzsche
Atheism is a non-prophet organization. ~George Carlin (RIP)
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RE: Experiences of male and female domination - 
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