Mirror Brother

I crossdream because an important part of me deep down within I identify as feminine. That part I call Deborah Kate.

After many years' obfuscation it feels crucial now that I do not belittle Deborah Kate as being merely sexual fantasy or sub-personality. No, I need to assert  'I am Deborah Kate'. That feels good, if slightly scary.

Yet it's important that I do not disown the masculine elements of my personality as a false front. No, there is much that I hate about my masculine upbringing and standard masculine values, but I have engaged with how I have been educated and regarded and I have developed an authentic masculine personality in response. Certainly not alpha, but not camp either. A personality I rather like, in fact.

So, as Deborah Kate, how do I consider this man who shares my being? Well, I've known him a long time and I'm fond of him. We are brother and sister. We appreciate each other's sadnesses and joys, weaknesses and sensitivities. He has the outer body, and he negotiates the outside world on my behalf. I see him as being my guardian. While I have the luxury of the tenderest feelings and the sexual pleasures, he deals with the rougher, duller parts of life, and God knows there are enough of those. His pleasures tend to be modest, like those of a workman on a break: a sandwich, a cup of tea, maybe a beer, some wry humour. He is world-weary, yet still willing to look after me. Thanks, bro.

Brother, I feel your sadness, your tiredness, your heavy-heartedness.

Sister, I feel your repression, your awful denial of expression. It's a denial that is continuous through every moment: expression in looks, in words, in movement, in sex. That;'s one hell of  a lot of denial. You bear it bravely.

Now we both feel like hugging each other and crying. A slow tear rolling down a sad face from brother, a big, big, girly sob from me.

But that's for the past. Ever onwards, and thank you, dear brother!