You get sprung

A recent discovery: when I wear tights underneath my super-thin-ultra-high-waisted-wide-legged-skinny pants it makes it less likely that you can see my dick through them. This is good news, because though I have never wanted to tuck, I also don’t want people to see my dick.

This means that now these pants are an option. They are a lot—tall and tight in a way that makes my waist look so skinny and my butt look so big— but I could wear them if I feel brave, or maybe have a gig, or go to a queer space.

My first thoughts about Puberty 2.0 were all focused on the internal: stuff like hormones, emotions, and mood swings. After this, they were about bodily stuff—will I grow boobs? Will my skin get clearer? How will my hair grow? (Yes, yes, wild; like tangled shoelaces).

I didn’t consider clothing, or makeup, or learning how to style long hair, but it turns out that I should’ve, because there’s tons to learn. Clothes turn out to be a big part of it. Hiding my dick from the public turns out to be a (big) part of it.

Which brings me to my next quandary:

Is it proper for a trans-fem nonbinary amab person to make stupid penis jokes? It was a (huge) part of my life before my egg cracked. Now it feels a little womp womp, like a fat trombone. I think it’s likely that my predilection for penis humor had something to do with my undiscovered gender identity. Now the impulse hovers in my periphery like a coat rack when I’m too stoned, or vaguely hangs (between my legs) like a phantom limb.