My Life With Tits

My girlfriend has fantastic tits. They are pert and have that nice slope to their tops. Their nipples, a sweet golden pink, spring up at me after peeking out from under my fingers as I move my hands along their curves. Her under-tits would make any college boy moan.

I have great tits too, actually. They are small, but perky and have a nice boob-to-nipple ratio. they are evenly proportioned. They are soft, and other girls have told me I have nice boobs. I just wish they weren’t attached to me. When I look down at them I see things that get in the way. I consider them in the same way many men consider their love handles: unfortunate lumps that many people of my gender and age have, and I would look better without them, but boy would that be a lot of work. But we don’t call tits “love handles,” do we? No, they are knockers, they knock about, they are breasts, they provide milk for babies, they are boobs, foolish and clumsy.

I am willing to do the work, and it is work that is worth the trouble to me, so it’s time for them to go. I have spent my life ignoring them, putting them in sports bras or other cheap bras that were mostly perfunctory in nature: I didn’t want something pretty, that idea horrified me: I wanted something to stabilize them, keep them out of my way and stationary. I bind now, and it looks better. But it still isn’t me.

I have never, ever liked having tits. It’s not about them just being too big, no one would consider them large. They have never felt like a real part of my body, always strangers looking out from a cliff, hollering to the people below about the great view, and the people below believe them without knowing the strangers are describing a land they themselves don’t fully understand.

It’s about being my true self, my authentic self. Removing my breasts allows me to reflect on the outside the person I feel like on the inside. This does not mean I feel like a man. I don’t know what it means to “feel like a man.” I do feel like a girl. But just saying that feels fake, too. No, I suppose I don’t know what it means to “feel like a girl” either. Neither distinction has ever really felt like home to me. I don’t reflect what American culture shows me to be either traditionally male or female. I think that is true for many people. On the inside I feel more streamlined, more flat, more masculine. My heart feels angular, but my body is so curvy and romantic. These two argue a lot.

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

5 thoughts on “My Life With Tits

  1. ‘This does not mean I feel like a man. I don’t know what it means to “feel like a man.” I do feel like a girl. But just saying that feels fake, too. No, I suppose I don’t know what it means to “feel like a girl” either. Neither distinction has ever really felt like home to me. I don’t reflect what American culture shows me to be either traditionally male or female.’

    Wow! Perfectly put. I feel exactly the same way. Thank you so much for this blog!!!!

    • No problem, Ryder. Part of my decision to write publicly about my transition is to be of use to kids coming up behind me. I’m glad you have stumbled across it–so make yourself at home. 😉

  2. Pingback: Retrospect | My Life Without Tits

  3. I’ve been starting to read (and sometimes re-read) through the posts you listed within the post about the grant – the ones you are planning on editing and submitting… and, all I really have to say so far is: Damn, you are a great writer. Still one of my very favorite writers of all time. And I don’t mean, “out of the people I know” or, “out of normal, regular, everyday people”. I mean out of all writers I have read, famous and not. For me, you’re up there with Dorothy Parker, Jonathan Franzen, Sylvia Plath, Raymond Chandler. To name a few. I’ve felt that way since I first heard your poetry way back when. I’ve even told people so in conversations – people who didn’t even know you; I have raved about your writing talents to people who probably couldn’t care less, but I was definitely telling the truth. I’m so happy you’re still doing it, and doing something with it. I’m so very proud of you, Eli.

    • Marie,

      You crazy fool. You’re gonna make me cry. God, you’re so kind, and you and Shawn F. have always been two of my greatest supporters, from way back in the day when I was reading shitty poetry at the Boarders in Geneva, and angry shitty poetry at Burkhart’s in Chicago.

      You remind me here of all the support I’ve had for so long, and I am so very thankful for it.

      I’m so glad you’re in my life, and working on your own art, and I am so very proud of the struggle you meet every day to continue to practice in your medium.

      And you’re fucking good at it, too. Your pieces are stunning.

      xoE

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