Today is the first time I’ve experienced passing as a man (or a boy). I went in to a gas station-shop to buy a drink and chocolate. I took a soda in the fridge just by the checkout and then I asked the cashier where they had the candy. She pointed into the store and kindly explained where it was. When I came back to the checkout to pay I thought that she acted weird. The odd feeling stayed with me the whole time I was in the shop and it wasn’t until later that I realized why she so suddenly changed from normally nice to weird. She probably read me as a man/boy when I came into the shop, but after speaking to her and spending some time in there, she realized that that probably wasn’t true. At least this is the only explanation I can come up with for this sudden change in personality and it’s an explanation that makes me surprisingly happy.
I have thought that I don’t mind being read as a woman – although a butch one. The thought of being read as a man hasn’t struck me before, I thought that I have to many female markers for strangers to read me as a man – boobs, my voice, my face, gestures and posture. But I actually liked being read as a man, although I don’t think I would want to always be read as a man. Just as I’m not all female, I’m not all male either. It’s ok for me to be read as a man sometimes, a women sometimes and genderless sometimes – as long as long as I’m not read the same all the time.
Later my wife commented that she hardly can see my breasts anymore. Of cause I don’t agree with her, they are showing plenty even though they aren’t as prominent in my new clothes. They don’t look very large in the sports bras that I wear, but a sport bra is a sport bra and it doesn’t give me the profile I wish for. Therefore I have decided to buy binders. I have the ordering page up on my computer, I’ve found a model I like and all that is left is to find a size that will fit me. To find the right size mean that I have to take out a tape measurement and measure my breasts. For that reason I have been on my way ordering binders for a couple of days now. There is always something more “important” to do than finding the tape measurement, take my shirt of, look at my boobs and find out just how big they are…
I’m not stupid, I realize that I will need to find the right size for the binder in order for it to do it’s work properly and be comfortable. I also realize that finding the right size requires me to either try the garment on or measure myself. But for some reason I didn’t really ponder over which part of me I would have to measure. I suppose I just have to suck it up in order to allow myself to feel better about my body in the future. But I rather do it another day…

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