At my latest appointment with my transition doctor my pleas were heard. Since my second visit I’ve asked him to increase my dosage. I’m old and in a hurry LOL. Of course, I asked in a joking manner… I don’t tell highly educated doctors what to do. He’d look at my labs and say ‘no, you are where I want you to be.’ Well I’ll be damned if he looked over all my lab results this time, nodded gently and said ‘your testosterone is excellent, but I think we can up your estrogen.’ I squealed a little bit, embarrassingly so. He raised my dosage by 50%! Now we’re getting somewhere.
Had a horrible experience recently. If you’ve read my blog you know I am involved with various ministries in the Catholic church, and have had some minor and major battles with priests, their homilies and the Church’s stance. At the church I am currently a member I happen to be the head of the bereavement committee. When a parishioner dies I lead the process from notification to creating the mass booklet to the funeral mass itself. I’m not done until dirt is being thrown on the grave.
So on Tuesday i saw through a funeral mass. As usual, due to too much practice, everything went perfectly. I take pride in making things run smoothly… this is a process to honor a deceased’s life and is important to the family to remember their last pubic appearance of their loved one.
At the after-mass luncheon the family and friends gather to share a meal and memories. We on the committee take part in the meal. So I’m sitting at a table with my co-members shoveling down some home cooking not my own (always a plus) when one of the family members approaches us. This is a normal event. The family likes to thank us for our efforts at this difficult time.
“I just wanted you to know… i find you a disgrace. I’m disgusted you had anything to do with my mother’s funeral. I hope you’re happy.”
Stunned? Yeah. Speechless? Absolutely. Angry? No. Only angry I don’t pass well enough to have no such scene. I’m rarely spoken to quite so directly, though. When my ex-priest spent four homilies decrying the destruction of the family by those ‘men in dresses’ I simply left that church and moved to this one. I’m not a confrontational person.
Those two events intertwine. Hopefully my transition will improve enough that someone may say to themselves ‘something odd about that ugly old woman’ but feel no need to ask me why. Then I can go about my life quietly without incident. I have no desire to do anything other than live my life quietly and in peace.
Always like to see these, however short. I thank you Deiron very much. May a futa visit you soon!
, November 1, 2016
This review is from: Mother Superior Book 3: Confrontation (Kindle Edition)
Nice continuation of the previous 2 story’s. Worth for a continuation of this;
, November 1, 2016
This review is from: Futanari Convent Book 1: Transition: A Futa Fantasy (Kindle Edition)
If you’ve read my older posts you know I left the Catholic church I had attended for more than a decade because of the asinine transphobic homilies of my priest. What I did was to go down the road a couple of towns to try theirs. Since I was a lector in the diocese I could lector in the new church. This Sunday’s First Reading was done by yours truly. And I almost wet my panties!
So many assholes try to use scripture to deny we trans folk our basic humanity, really. We’re all such evil sinful creatures trying to suck the manhood out of society. Right. So here I was, standing in the ambo looking at all those fine, religious people waiting for me to begin. And I read this from the Book of Wisdom (yes, yes, Protestants, I understand you don’t accept that book as part of the scriptures. Check your history. The Catholic list of books is the complete one. It was Martin Luther who decided he didn’t like certain teachings and removed them when he revised your bible. This counts.)
Yes, you love all that exists, you hold nothing of what you have made in abhorence, for had you hated anything, you would not have formed it. And how, had you not willed it, could a thing persist, how be conserved if not called forth by you? You spare all things because all things are yours, Lord, lover of life, you whose imperishable spirit is in all.
It is as I’ve said before to haters… God made me and He knew what He was doing. I’m no surprise to him. Along with an argument predicated on a New Testament portion in Acts.
I so wanted to jump up and down and squeeeeee… but I refrained. In the parking lot I was high fiving myself, though LOL.
My wonderful lover Kelly has made me pregnant. And she refuses to acknowledge it. I feel so violated <sob>
Actually, it’s costume night at Kelly’s Closet dance club tonight. Considering my battles with the Catholic Church I thought I’d take the opportunity to tweak their noses a little.
My church lady friends gathered for breakfast last Sunday and asked me to join them. I swear to god that priest will not get off the transphobic high horse. He had brought the trans subject yet again. (I don’t attend any more. This is the subject the ladies chose to discuss, bless their hearts.) So during breakfast I was fucking bombarded with the same damn questions I’ve answered a thousand times. I know we should be patient with CIS folk. To many of them we’re like something dropped from outer space or something. And I don’t mind responding to any serious queries. I’m pretty done with “did you cut your penis off?”-type questions, though. My complaint… what upset me… was that I am plowing the same field over and over. They’ve asked me these things. Several times. I ended up daintily wiping my lips of egg yolk and saying “thank you for asking me to breakfast,” and leaving. I was just exhausted.
We’ll be fine. They didn’t even know I was actually pissed. They are the only friends I have. But they can be a nosy bunch at times.
What really upset me is that when I got online to Second Life to meet my girlfriend Kelly I was all bitchy with her. Even simply left her at one point. I went back but she was properly pissed at me. <sigh> Let me tell you about this woman. She is the best thing in my life. We may have met in Second Life and spend our time there, we email and chat in Real Life, too. There’s a connection. The last thing I want to do is let out my inner bitch and upset her.
Let me tell you about this woman, Kelly. She is the best thing in my life. We may have met in Second Life and spend our time there, we email and chat in Real Life, too. There’s a connection that I haven’t felt in years. The last thing I want to do is let out my inner bitch and upset her.
The good news about is that Kelly bought a special spanking chair just for me, and after her work was done we went home and tested it out. It works! I’ll be able to sit properly by Wednesday heehee.
Some positive strides have been made in conquering my recent fear. [Very brief recap: hurricane, shelter, disapproving townsfolk, pitchforks… well, maybe no pitchforks].The church girls called me to have lunch. Since I quit the church they hadn’t seen me and wanted to catch up. I felt this would be a good time to break my self-imposed isolation. Driving around without getting out of the car is not mingling heehee.
During the meal they were so sympathetic. I couldn’t figure out why until they told me. The very next weekend after I refused to return to help the priest out he gave yet another homily, a tirade really, about us men-in-dresses. This time he used my fucking name as an example of someone infiltrating decent society. Infiltrating. I thought I was attending a church service. My friends had wanted to call to commiserate but felt bullied so didn’t. This was a make-up lunch. I felt sorry for them. They felt so bad about something that wasn’t their problem at all. They shouldn’t have.
V didn’t attend. It’s definitely over. I understand. I surprised her with my little friend. Lesbians don’t like surprises like that LOL.
After that lunch we did a little shopping the old style way… wandering the aisles poking and prodding at the goods. I was so happy about being out I bought some new shoes. A boot with two-inch heels, zipper along the outside. And some new leggings.
All in all, it was a good day.
I’ve begun to reevaluate my opinion of men. I won’t say why, specifically, but I believe I’ve taken my horrid experiences and previous bad relationships and applied them to all men. That’s wrong. That’s painting with too broad a brush. There are sweet, gentle caring men, men who wouldn’t ever think of hurting me. I just have to get to know them before ever putting myself in a compromising position. Why, I believe I may have grown, dear readers.
I had yet another funeral to attend yesterday. This is getting to be a habit, sadly. This was in a town I used to live in a few years ago before I started transitioning. Being a good Catholic male at the time, I was a member of the Knights of Columbus. After a short time I became an officer in both the Council and the Assembly (two divisions of the KoC). In fact, I am a Past Grand Knight and Past Faithful Navigator. I still pay dues annually. They just think I moved out of town and didn’t transfer my membership to the local Council. Heehee, maybe I should join the Ladies Auxiliary instead.
So anyway, into the Council came this gentleman, a very nice man, who happened to have the same birthday as I. He was ten years older than me but still, the same day. How cool. So we became friends. We matched each other position by position… he did two years Grand Knight, I did two years. He did two years Faithful Navigator… well, you get the idea.
He was a Vietnam Vet, a helicopter pilot. G_____ used to tell hilarious stories of his flying experience in combat (he flew Chinooks which is relatively unarmed… not totally, but it’s not the exciting lead slinging helicopters of movie fame).
One time at a fundraiser at a Walmart handing out free Tootsie Rolls hoping for donations, he told this story to a bunch of us: “I had to pick up a squad to get them out of the firestorm. They had the high ground for defensive purposes but gave me no flat surface to land. So I pressed the landing gear against the hill and held it there, sideways, while the men made their way to me. Over the top came a group of the enemy firing right at me. I held steady and starting firing back with my .45. I wasn’t about to leave those boys. We loaded, I pulled up and away while giving the little bastards the finger. Unfortunately, they had shot out my windshield. I had to fly all the way back to FOB with the wind in my face. But I got ’em back.” Then he turned to me: “M____, tell us a war story about being in the band.” He said it with a twinkle in his eye, the bastard! I forgot what silly story I told. Doesn’t matter. His story showed me the kind of man he was, and continued to be throughout his life. He would work a fundraiser for every last dime, and with the Knights every last dime was presented to the various Intellectual Disability institutions around, and the Special Olympics.
An amusing aside. There is a ceremony for fallen Knights. Lots of pomp and ceremony, presentations, honor guard, all going on before the funeral. This is done by the very Assembly I led for two years in boy mode. I saw so many folks that I knew for years and was a little concerned. I got some looks but nothing more. No flash of recognition from anyone. I just wanted to say my farewells to an old friend. I was in and out in a few hours.
Life goes on.
So there I was last night, sitting at my laptop having a lovely dance on Catalina Island with this beautiful, blond CD (in Second Life, sadly) when my doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood my ex-priest. He asked if he could come in and, of course, ever the lady, I invited him in.
He said he was concerned over my sudden departure from the church. I had been such an active participant, an integral part of the community. He wondered what prompted my decision. I told him that the subject of his last few homilies had been personally offensive and I saw no reason to allow myself to be offended.
“Why? What offended you?” “Your diatribe about men in dresses.” (Yes dear readers, I actually used ‘diatribe’. I talk like that.) “But I was talking about those confused about their god-given gender.” “I understand, Father. I’m not confused. I KNOW I’m a woman.” Dead silence. Then you could see realization cross his face. Delicious!
Then the real reason comes out. “G_____ died last night. We’re having a funeral on Friday. Could you come back long enough to run that through?” (I am… was… the head of the bereavement committee)
That felt goooooooood. (Not about G_____, of course. He was a nice guy. But there is a whole group of ladies involved in the committee. They’ll be fine.)
I have done a lot of soul-searching the last couple of days. I just can’t go on, I can’t do it. I believe my priest has poisoned others against me. I have started to notice other parishioners giving me the old side-eye, people I have known and worked with for years now. I’ve led committees, been a… never mind. It doesn’t matter. Church has become a toxic atmosphere and is doing absolutely no good for my soul. I quit. I told Father today I was leaving the church and walked away.
I feel better already. Relieved. Sad, but relieved.
I had to take a long drive this morning, just to clear my mind and find peace. As usual, I attended morning Mass… in fact, I was the lector (read the scriptures aloud minus the Gospel).
As I noted in an earlier post, Pissed Off, my priest is very conservative. He’s even said bad things about the current Pope because he’s too liberal in his opinion. In Pissed Off I noted how he went on a homily rant about trans people. It took me over a day to get over that.
So this morning the First Reading — the reading I read to everyone — was about Jeremiah prophesying concerning the potter taking clay and making whatever object he pleased. According to him, it is not up to the pot to remake itself in any fashion it wishes. If he makes a pot with a spout, removing the spout goes against its maker and is cursed.
Well fuck you, Father. You had me read the very scripture you were going to use to chastise me. He always, I mean always, bases his homily on the Gospel. Today, Jeremiah. I was thiiiiiiis close to standing up, lifting my skirt and waving my spout at him yelling ‘and I’m still a woman anyway.’
A Tumblr friend — wishyoulivedcloser –gave me excellent ammunition should he ever directly accost me. It concerns Phillip and the Ethiopian eunuch as noted in the book of Acts. I keep it at my fingertips! Thanks
Twice in one month. <sigh> I shouldn’t let this stuff get to me. But I left DC because of the dangerous atmosphere and actual physical attacks. Since I moved to this small town everyone pretty much ignores me but does nothing to embarrass or humiliate me. Just toleration, which is all I want. To go to church in order to be attacked is just… just… wrong.