Another few months have gone by since I was last loved. I still get out there and try, but it seems that every guy has someone else they're more interested in, or a sexual preference that precludes dickless boys.
(I'd been flirting recently by SMS with a boy, but I finally met up with him last night, and he was obviously much more engaged with others, inlcuding his boyfriend, but I didn't have any other romantic possibilities, so I'd been slightly hopeful about this one for the last few weeks, but I'm a fool, and young gay men like fluttering their eyelashes at me but at the end of the day they want a DICK. Or a Top. Or a Dom. Or anal sex. Or anything else that I'm not offering.)
I used to have a gender, or at least, I used to think I was a boy or a girl, and presented as a boy or a girl, and people knew what to make of me, or thought they did, and I didn't have to go for months or years without anyone wanting to get really close to me. Even if they realised our incompatibility the next morning, it was the next morning, and before I was rejected I got touched and held and felt and stroked and loved.
Now I don't have a gender, or at least, no manufactured gender, no commercially supported sexuality, no shaved legs or hairless underarms, no make-up, no girly hairdo, and no inclination to restrain my naturally girly animation, my unconventional dancing, or my gender transgression. I wear clothes that reveal my transgressive gender, rather than clothes that could disguise me with gender normativity. I wear skirts and flat tops, pairing my flat chest with my flat groin, and my genderless hairstyle with my flirtatious hips.
This is who I am, and I have to take the chance that in expressing this, most people may reject it, so that those who do find it compatible can find it in me.
So far, all I am finding is the people who don't find me sexually compatible. Or so it seems. Oh, they find me colourful, fun to dance with, and fun to talk with, but not to fuck with, not to kiss, not to touch and hold and feel.
It's a cold winter. I didn't get laid last night. I didn't get laid last weekend. I didn't get laid last month, or the month before, or the month before, or the month before that. I can see no prospect of getting laid tonight or this week or next week or next month or the month after or ever really. I've had sex twice this year and twice last year and no more than that for the last four years. And I've tried queer sex parties, saunas, nightclubs and bars (gay and straight, city and suburban), the commercial queer scene, the alternative queer scene, house parties, personal ads (gay, straight, newspaper and internet, as a boy and as a girl and as an "other"), and softly putting the hard word on every single attractive male I know.
There is no sign of progress.
I wish I could think of and do something different, something with more of a chance of success.
So I decided to pay for sex, just to feel human again, even if the other person was only there because of the money, at least they'd be there with me, and my skin could feel alive and safe and caressed. And the despair fogging my soul would be lifted.
So, I went to the commercial ads on Gaydar, and found a nice boy I liked the look of, who said he was bi (indeed, it was part of his handle), into men and women, and sent him a message. He messaged me back, and asked for my "stats". I described my age and height and weight and sex, and didn't hear back from him. Forty five minutes later, I sent another message, explaining that my query was genuine, though my gender odd, but I'd quite understand if he thought this would be a problem for him. He messaged me back that it was a problem, and thanked me for my understanding.Gutted.
My flat 54 kilo yoga-toned body is so unattractive to other humans that I can't even pay for sex, not even with a bisexual professional who does both men and women. I can make my body as slim and flexible and strong as I want, and it will still be unattractive to 99.9% of men. Before I tried paying for it, I'd've said 99, but now I reckon it's 99.9.
POINT: Androgyny is what's right for me. It's what feels and looks right to me. Hormones, boobs, fat: yuk. I look at my body naked and I like it, it's right, it's beautiful to me. If I am the only one in God's Earth that appreciates this creation, then that's the way of it, and I will not alter it, diminish divine beauty, just for the sake of carnal satiation. And if I took hormones etcetra I would be so altered that it would not be the real me that was being appreciated.
POINT: If most men found androgyny to be their thing, then most men would be disappointed, because most people are not so androgynous. It works out better the way it is, with roughly 80% attracted to women (which works well, most other people being women, and most of them liking men), roughly 10% only attracted to men (which works perfectly within this 10% of men who fancy men, there being a 1:1 ratio of partners!), roughly 10% being bisexual, that is, into men or women, and maybe half a percent into transsexuals (which works well with the corresponding tiny percent of population who are transsexual), and one in a million or so maybe being into a androgynous eunuch like me. I presume we're about one in a million, although I have yet to meet anyone with the exact same gender as me. At any rate, I hope it's more than one in fifteen billion!
POINT: I altered my body, but because of my inherent drive to androgyny, so it's all part of the Creator's design. The Universe is perfectly designed, so there is a match for everybody. This even includes one in a million gorgeous girly eunuchs.
POINT: The shortest day of the year is today or tomorrow, the longest, darkest night. Then the days start getting longer again. Dark and light shift and change in cycles. Here in the longest darkest coldest night of my love life, with no prospects I can see, there may yet be a dawning, the sprouting of a seed I can't see, a chance I can't forsee.
OR I am only here for a short time, a quick mission of a few decades to break down the gender barriers, and the love to sustain me has run out, and a wolf or bus will be along soon to put me out of my misery.
Maybe this is the winter of my life. Maybe I'm hoping for a spring that's long gone.
I go on in the long dark night, trying to trust that God/the source of Love is there with me, unseen in the cold darkness, and that my suffering will not be endless.
It's winter now, at it's coldest and darkest and worst, but it will not always be winter
, whether this particular body lives to see Spring or nay.