If I’d been given a choice of
gender at birth, I’m not sure I’d have chosen a vagina. Let’s pretend for a
second that in utero I got a shoulder tap and was presented the facts and
asked, after having possessed full knowledge, which gender space I wanted to
occupy; I may have said: “I’ll take dick for FTW, Bob.”
I’m not saying that being a
woman isn’t a beautiful thing – not at all. Furthermore, I am not saying that
being a woman hasn’t allowed me to do some truly amazing things: giving birth
to my son, reaching levels of compassion, intuition and empathy that I feel
most men have trouble with, scoring free shit from stupid men when I couldn’t
afford it, and shoes – it all comes down to looking good in a great pair of
heels. When I weigh that shit against the other not so glamorous stuff, which
we will get to, I am left thinking I’d still like to be able to piss on a tree
just once.
I started thinking about this
topic curled in the fetal position on the couch waiting for the painkillers to
take effect on my baby box which is actively being sabotaged. It’s not new
stuff, I’ve been going through it for a few years now, but as I’ve gotten older
it’s all gotten worse. They say shit hurts more as you get older- they aren’t
fucking kidding. It is no joke when I say that I would love to rip out my
uterus and drop kick that bitch into a black hole in space. It’s clear I’m not
pushing any more small humans through it, why do I need this thing? Seems pointless
to me that I should have to suffer so much and thus push my suffering on those
I come in contact with; because that’s what happens, at least once a month
until this thing dries up. That’s just my menstrual cycle; let’s talk about
other fun girl stuff.
So, women’s clothing is fun
and pretty, right? Sure, if you are a traditional size and that size is
socially acceptable and you are OK with that size. If you have body image
issues and/or you don’t fit into standard issue clothing straight from the
rack, you are FUCKED! Good luck shopping and not trying to slit your wrists
later. Take me for example: I have short legs, but they are full and a small
waist. I’m sometimes a 6, sometimes 4, an 8 will work depending on the maker;
but none of that shit matters because they’re usually too long unless I get the
skinny jeans. I hate skinny jeans. I told you I have thick legs right? Thick
legs…skinny jeans…fatal flaw! Moving on…
I could go on for hours about
body image and how we spin ourselves stupid: “My boobs aren’t big enough; my
ass is too big, my calves are fat, and my nose is too big” Thoughts like these
have crossed most of our minds at least once or twice; some more than others.
Some of you ladies are well-adjusted – I tip my hat. Truth: I know very little
about being well-adjusted, so I will just stop here and say that it’s fucked up
what we do to ourselves and what we so often think about ourselves.
If someone had whispered in my
ear that instead of being a moody bitch for two weeks each month, instead of
jamming food in my face as if on auto-pilot, instead of excusing myself from
situations like Clark Kent but instead of changing into a cape, I get to change
tampons - if I had been given the list of “instead of this…you could this” I
would have stood in line for a penis. A penis stays tucked inside my panties
[yep, I went there] when I go running too, boobs are always fucking shit up. I
have very little to speak of in this area, but I’ve heard other women bitch and
that’s enough for me.
As a man, I think my first act
of business would be to go out in public without a top on. Hopefully I’m one of
those men that probably shouldn’t be topless, but doesn’t care either. Men seemingly
have this comfort with themselves as they are, or is that arrogance? Either
way; I want it. If I parade around without my top on [which would never fucking
happen in a million years] my ass is getting carted off to jail for indecent
exposure. I’m clearly not a hooker; no one is buying these goods. Men don’t
have to get their nuts squished for test-o-grams do they? No? I didn’t think
so. Mammograms are hardcore hero shit. There are other medical areas to explore
but my blog is getting long and attention spans are usually gnat-like.
I guess what I’m saying is: I
want to know what it’s like to pee on trees, I want to know the freedom of not
being burdened by the societal
cinderblock of an ideal of what womanhood should be or look like. I want to
know what it feels like to have sex with an external sex organ. Ladies, don’t
bullshit me and say you’ve never asked yourself what it felt like to fuck with
the opposite sex organ. Vaginas are great and are even greater if your partner
helps you maximize their full potential, but I’m a curious girl and there is
nothing wrong with admitting that shit either. Take the shame out of it!
I feel like, as ladies, we are
expected to behave a certain way and perhaps not say certain things. To that I
say: bullshit! I say what I feel and I feel what I say. If I offend your
delicate sensibilities then move along; I don’t blame you or fault you. Maybe I’m
not your cup of tea and that’s fine too, but I won’t apologize for being real.
Maybe that’s my purpose; they say we all have a purpose, maybe mine is to shake
the status quo. Maybe I’m supposed to say the shit that people think but are
too bashful to say. I’m not alone in it, but most of the women who do this are
notable figures; I’m just a nobody. I’m the foul-mouthed girl next door who
talks aloud about what it’s like to have penis envy. I’m the girl who talks to
you candidly about my uterus and homicidal thoughts; and you’re welcome.
Vaginas are great! I’ve really
enjoyed mine for the time I’ve had it, but I think if I had been slipped a note
that very clearly explained to me the implications and side effects associated
with the ownership of said vagina, I might have opted out. Women are beautiful
and perhaps as a man it might have given me a better opportunity to appreciate
them in a different light instead of always seeing them as a direct threat.
Disassemble Stephanie! That being said, I’ve decided to start writing letters
to Santa for a penis. I want one that belongs to me and is attached, not some
rouge stranger penis, so applicants need not apply and please zip your pants
back up. I’ve never heard any stories of Santa trading but I hear some of the elves
are on the dark web; maybe we can do some business that way.
One slightly used vagina
w/completely functional uterus for trade - seeking moderately sized penis of
average girth with no visible blemishes and no prior VD history. Please reply,
serious inquires only.
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