Just before my eyes open, I register that I am here. My brain just a lightning quick check, all body parts accounted for. I open my eyes, not really registering anything, but secondary thought guides me into the bathroom, time to empty the bladder. As I go into the hallway, my brain starts registering detail. This is the worst part.
I enter the bathroom, I turn on the wrong light, the one with the exhaust fan. I turn it off and turn on the other one, the lights over the mirror. I look into the mirror and for a moment, fleeting as snow on the tongue, I am me. But the moment passes and it’s just the guy standing there. I turn away and go to the toilet. Sometimes, it’s standing, sometimes it’s sitting, it depends on how awake I am. Either way, penis is there, needing to be aimed. I ponder it, wondering what I did in another life to be punished in this way. I must have been a horrible person to be inside this body, to be holding this penis. Don’t get me wrong I like penises, I like the thought of them anyway. If one was attached to someone I am attracted to, then I like them a lot. I don’t like them attached to me.
I finish my business and wash my hands, sometimes. I turn out the light and go into the living room. If it is a work day, I take a moment to check my work phone for IT issues from work. Then I go back into the bedroom, get a pair of panties and socks. Then go back into the bathroom to take a shower. Again, the penis. Sometimes I masturbate then shower, sometimes I just shower. The masturbating is about tension release, it’s about more sometimes. I love the feeling of soapy water on my skin. My shaved legs are slippery and I feel so feminine.
I get out of the shower, I dry off, and shave my face. Every single day, shave the face. It hurts, it’s raw and I do it. I hate the feeling of stubble. I look into the mirror and focus on the eyes, I’m in there. I dry off and put on a nightgown and light cardigan I use as a robe. Sometimes, I will wear a wig, if I have time. Wigs leave marks on my forehead, and I have to re-wet my real hair and brush it so I have to have time. Sometimes I go out to the mailbox or walk the dog. I am almost daring cars going by to have a problem with me this damn early in the morning. Trans waking, please go on about your business.
I keep track of the time, minutes tick by. I will have to stop being me soon, sooner, done. I have to be him now, the mask, the guy. I go into the bedroom and turn on the light. My wife is usually up while I am walking the dog or checking mail. So she is on the couch. I look through my closet, part of it has pretty dresses, a few tunic shirts and some racy outfits for if I ever lose weight. I then look over at the other half and listlessly grab a mens button down shirt. I take off my nightgown and put on the shirt and a pair of womens jeans, so that I am not completely de-feminized. And I am out the door to work.
If it is the weekend, on Friday after work, I paint my nails. So the same thing, except when I get up and get out of the bathroom, I bemoan my nails with their sheet marks on them. Shrug and go about my business. I will get some tea made, then I take my shower. It takes much longer on the weekends, but I am ok with that. This is makeup time. I take a long shower, I don’t usually masturbate. I just want to feel feminine and not touching my own penis helps. I get out and start my makeup routine. I go back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, to get the bra that I forgot, or the right blouse. I finish, and put on my wig. I look into the mirror and this time, the guy is in the back just visible, and I am mostly there. Not all the way there, but enough to where I can squint my eyes and almost see me.
My days are numbered, I count them down.
I’m not me, but inside me.
The mask is my prison ground.
I didn’t want this, I wanted to be.