Indigo is Masculine!

Since I’ve covered being Gender-fluid, I wanted to talk about my experiences a bit more, specifically in the ways I broke the roles I was placed into by my Gender Assigned at Birth (GAAB). Today, I examine the masculinity of the past.
As a kid, I made a very poor attempt at being a girl. Occasionally, I would wear a dress and delight in the looseness of the fabric. Most of the time, however, I resented being thrown in with a group that was commonly associated with brushing hair, dancing and spending an extraordinary amount of time shopping.
On hot summer days, I balked at the idea of wearing a shirt. At one point, I insisted on being let out of the house without one. My mother relented and I walked into my local neighborhood bare-chested. A five year old girl in jeans, some tennis shoes and no shirt walked to the neighbor’s house. When my feet hit the drive, I paused and looked down. Something felt wrong in this picture. After thinking hard, I went back home and put on a shirt. It was a moment that shaped my life more than I could realize. Now, I understand the fear that I grappled with has everything to do with feeling promiscuous, and possible child kidnapping.
Even at five years old, I was conscious that men acted on their perceptions and someone would see a girl without a shirt, make assumptions, and very possibly act on them.
At the age of 9, I spent more time sitting on toilets than was good for me. I found it was a great place to think, and I had such a lot to think about at that age. One day, as I sat, I examined my own body. It occurred to me that I could alter the stream of my urine if I clenched in the right way. I sat, moving my pubic mound up and down, imagining it turning into a tiny penis. All of my instincts told me it was strange to imagine these things, but they felt right to me.
At age 11, my father passed away. My mother and sister took it hard, but I was oblivious to what it meant. Death was a very different concept at 11. I pulled the household into action. I learned how to clean and cook on my own so that my family could own it’s grief. I talked to my dog about how he was the man of the family now. Now, it occurs to me that I might have been talking about me instead.
At age 15, I’ve learned to masturbate silently in my room. The smell of my own genitals was strange on my hands. In order to defend from this, I used a sock to cover my fingers. It created a new sensation on my genitals, and I began to understand why young boys might use them for a similar purpose. (Wow, I was so young and full of weird ideas.)
From the age I started masturbating in my own bed, I found my fantasies both fulfilling and confusing. Usually, I got off fastest when I was fantasizing about a heteronormative white couple having fairly vanilla intercourse (this makes me laugh now). But instead of being just a spectator or even in the female role, I was usually fantasizing from the perspective of the male.
As I found my correct gender terms, my past began to make more sense to me. I’m very glad that I don’t subscribe to one gender anymore. This freedom to explore has been amazing. Though some see me only as a woman, I know that I have more masculinity in me than they think.

Indigo Buys a Robe

10 out of 10
Would recommend. For everyone.
Pairs nicely with Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Enough said.
Please buy one here. Or here. Or here. Or here. Or literally anywhere that sells clothes.
So, as soon as I moved out, I realized that people who aren’t related to me would probably mind whether or not I was covered when I wandered around the apartment. A a result, I investigated all the possibilities for house-clothes.
First I started with slippers. I have tried many pairs of slippers in my time. Most of them have some sort of warm lining inside suede or plastic foot forms. They are open on the back, like close-toed flip-flops. Look, if you’ve never heard of or seen slippers, then you are clearly unaware of most culture post-1900. I’m sorry time-travelers, but this blog should not be your introduction to the 21st century.
Regardless, slippers are often quite plush and comfortable. For about three seconds. I would not recommend slippers for people who hate shoes, which I do. They are sweaty and constrictive and offer no airflow to the toes. My feet are the feet of a dancer. I studied Jazz and Ballet barefoot for three years in college. My feet are covered in callouses and they love the open air. Every time I wear slippers, my feet not only cry out for freedom, they sweat a nasty smell that should never enter the nostrils of another human being. Maybe someone really bad. Maybe. This is not something I wished to subject my roommates to.
If you’re a monster who MUST have slippers, you could buy them on Amazon I guess. But I’m not giving you a link because as far as I’m concerned, it’s blasphemy to feet everywhere.
I looked into silky pajamas, which you can find here. Or here. Or here! There are so many sets, it cannot be comprehended. There are sets with shorts, there are sets with pants, long-sleeved, short-sleeved and no-sleeved. These are all really great choices for home-wear. I endorse pajamas for any human being who wants to wear cloth on their bodies.
I’ve worn many pairs of pajamas before. I have had sets that match (with little birds on them), and sets comprised of stripey pants and one old as hell shirt with Zero on it. Usually, they flow well, fit loose and generally feel like they are made of air plus a waistband. However, I wanted something even less. That’s right. I wanted something LESS than a waistband. Years of being able to walk around completely naked spoiled my physical form. I wanted to stay as close to naked as I possible could.
Robes. Robes were the answer to all my problems. Again, if you’re a time-traveler or basically just a beast, robes are basically towels with sleeves. No, not that. You’re thinking of Snuggies, which are blankets with sleeves. Robes are different. They are absorbent, so when you spill your beer on yourself, they soak it up. Robes are short, so your legs and feet can show off their hairy, free-flowing goodness. Robes are tied with one piece of fabric around the middle, giving you complete control over your waistband.
Basically, robes are the trashiest item of clothing that can be bought in the modern market. I mean, more than short-shorts with “Juicy” written across the ass. I mean more than cut-off shorts. I mean more than men’s tank tops branded openly as “wife beaters.” When you walk out in a robe, you know that nothing productive will get done in the yard. If you’re going to get the paper, you will inevitably flash ALL of the neighbors. If you encounter a cop, that cop WILL judge you. Harshly.
And in our modern society of double-standards, it means that I do all of my best reviews in my robe. It means that I get really friendly neighbors. And it means that cops who block my car in frantically try to move their cruisers. That’s right, folks. I have boobs. I was born with female chromosomes. Usually, I ignore those chromosomes because they are annoying and bring down my income, respect and job prospects.
However, when I wear my robe and get a little benefit from my figure, it makes me feel good. I mean, I feel good in a trashy way, but I still feel good. It’s not unlike the feeling of liking a James Patterson novel. It’s basic. It’s usually made fun of. But it’s so damn satisfying sometimes.
So I went out and bought a men’s robe. That’s right. Because all of the women’s robes in target were around $50. Many of the men’s robes were also $50. But there was a section that was $30, and in that, I found one for $25. Again, being female is a pain in the ass. In addition, my devastatingly sexy boyfriend can wear this robe, so he rarely brings his own night clothes to my apartment.
There are many reasons to buy robes. They are comfy. They are easily adjustable. They are one size fits all. They can be found for cheap. Last, but certainly not least, they can improve your sex life.
Go buy robes. Go have sex.