My Little Big Man

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Being a tranny, I love being a woman.  I love when the world treats me that way, the polite smiles, the doors held open.  I even love how the guy at the auto parts store talks to me like I’m an idiot.

It’s about more than how you look.  It’s about how the world reacts to you.  It envelops you in this bubble of femininity, and you feel safe, secure, and just plain right.

Those that knew me before still hold on to a fading mental picture of the person they used to know.  Some call me he, some call me by my birth name, yet others can feel that image slipping away like the memory of a dream just after waking..

Those that never met me before the “big life change” see me as a woman, never questioning pronouns, and even have a hard time seeing me as anything but female.  The image they have in their mind is such that they can’t interact with me in any other way, than how they would interact with any woman they knew.  This is a feeling that evokes happiness and much content.  I know my other friends and family won’t be far behind, and soon, they won’t remember me as anything different than who they see today.

I think trannies appreciate their gender role in life much better than born girls, or born boys.  It’s something we’ve fought for, it’s something we’ve cried for, and it’s something we celebrate with each win that is a step in the ascending staircase of confidence.

I have a friend, a dear dear friend, who has become so special to me in a way that few will ever get to experience.  This friend of mine, my special little man, is someone who wasn’t always a man, and understands me, and the things I’m going through in a way that few can.  His experience as a woman, and as a transgender man, provides him insight into how I’m feeling and what I need in the dynamic of my life.

To say we’re an odd pair is a little of an understatement.  I, standing 6 foot in flats, having played college football, he standing 5.6 will gladly show you pictures of his quincenera, with his porcelain skin and a gown that would make any little Mexican girl from the east side of Houston jealous.

He would sooner die than have me lift anything even moderately heavy, he brings me food when I’m hungry, and he tells me I’m beautiful when I don’t even realize how much I needed to hear it.

I help him with perspective, and the finer points of fitness, and fill a void that every man needs, a doting woman, feeding his ego with genuine words of admiration.

We fit in a friendship that helps us experience what life is like for those who are born into a gender that matches their brain.  It’s something we seek, it’s something we treasure, and it’s something we’ll fight until the bitter end to retain.  

He’s quickly becoming the standard at which a woman should measure a man.  What he lacks in height he more then makes up for in heart, and I know he would give his last breath to protect me.

My little man has shown me how a woman should feel, protected, cared for, loved, and through it all, important.

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3 thoughts on “My Little Big Man

  1. Daddy Be says:

    I really enjoyed reading your article and applaud you for writing this. As a black male from a predominantly black neighborhood that likes transsexual women I have experienced those looks and even lost supposed to be friends. However I am who I am and not changing. Good for you that you have a supportive friend.

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