Reply To: What age did you know you were transgender?


Eight Years

My birth name is Peter. I never liked being called Peter and went by Pete for most of my life. Now I like my friends to call me Petra. At age seventy-six, I realize and lovingly accept myself and the fact that I am an effeminate gay transvestite and transwoman. I love to present myself in a feminine manner all the time. I have so much inner joy and peace from knowing and accepting that my sexual desires are at the root of all I am.

I began my inner journey to this awareness three years ago. I had experienced gender dysphoria at various times since childhood but in 2019 it became almost unbearable. I researched my symptoms and learned about mtf transgender for the first time. It seemed that this might be the cause of the symptoms I was experiencing. I sought counseling from the VA and over a six-month period I began to accept the possibility that the truth of who and what I am is a mtf transgender.

One thing which came back to me over and over was whether it was possible that my transgender feelings are at root due to homosexuality on my part. Now, after considerable reflection and observation of my past sexual history and current sexual preferences and desires I realize I was bisexual, but my internal homophobia prevented me from any experience. So, I went from performing in life as a straight male in order to fulfill family and social expectations, along with frequent urges to cross-dress, to a desire to be a transvestite bartender (exposure), several homosexual encounters, and the finally, to the present, as a mtf transwoman. Try as I might, in my case I cannot separate being gay from being a transvestite from being a transwoman. They all seem to feel right to me and I am comfortable being described as any of these. The one thing I am certain of is that I am no longer a straight, white, heterosexual male, nor do I desire to be. I am ok with my past, but I have no need to dwell on it.

I began to explore my sexuality growing up with two older and one younger sister. My older sisters are seven and eight years older than I and my little sister is five years younger. I naturally looked up to my older siblings and wanted to be like them. Up until I was six years old I had no understanding that I was different from them, it just never occurred to me. In my sixth year, during our family’s move from New York to Florida I had my first hint.

My father, my second older sister and myself traveled together by car while my mother, my oldest sister and our youngest, still a baby, traveled by train. One time during the trip I was getting tired and leaned over against my then thirteen-year-old sister to rest my head on her chest. I only wanted to feel her warmth and softness as I had so many times up till then. I was shocked when she pushed me away very roughly to let me know that somehow, something had changed in our relationship.

We moved into our new home, which had three bedrooms and one bathroom. My two older sisters shared one bedroom and I was put in the third bedroom with my little sister. I started second grade that fall and got beat up the first day and then it seemed like every day until I got angry for the first time in my young life and fought back against my attacker. As my younger sister got older and began to talk there was a time when I asked her to show me her privates and I would show her mine. My parents got wind of my request and the next thing I knew my father was giving me a serious beating with his belt. She was between four and five and I was eight years old. I really was only curious. I had no other intent than just to see what made her and my other sisters different from me. There was no talking, no explanation, no instruction – just a beating which I have remembered forever. I learned that curiosity about sex was dangerous to pursue. I wanted to know what made me different and my parents were either unable or unwilling to tell me anything. That was the only instruction I ever received.

But my inner desires could not be squelched so easily, and I found other ways to somewhat satisfy my curiosity. When I was eight, my older sisters were fifteen and sixteen and I had been moved to the opposite end of the house, away from my parents and sisters’ bedrooms. Our house only had one bathroom for the whole family to share and our family laundry hamper was next to the toilet. One day I was sitting on the toilet and the thought came to me to look in the hamper to see what I might find in there. I rummaged in the hamper for the first time that day and found a pair of stockings. I took them out and had to try them on. Somehow I knew how to put them possibly due to memories earlier in my childhood. I rolled each one down, put my foot carefully in, and pulled them up over my ankle, past my knees and up to my thighs. Then and there I was sexually aroused for the first time in my life. I stood in front of the mirror over the bathroom sink and watched my little penis grow hard. The exotic feeling of nylon stockings on my legs increased to unbearable proportions as I rubbed my stocking clad feet, legs, and thighs together until I ejaculated for the first time. That was my first experience crossdressing.

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