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The Feminized Masculine, or TomBoy VS FemBoy

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 21, 2013 by Zev Ubu

The opposite of the femboy in it’s simplest form is the tomboy. The Tomboy is generally accepted in western culture as a common stereotype. While the femboy is not. This is because of a many things, but I will focus on two.

1
The femboy, the drag queen, the general feminization of the male persona is normally associated in our culture with sexual preference. Gay, bi, queer  thus the individual’s sexual preference becomes a stereotype, that is projected on to them.

Sex is normally portrayed as a power play, dominant and submissive. Western stereotypes tend to connect masculine with dominant and feminine with submissive. However as our popular culture has grown, so has our acceptance. Thus our stereotypes have expanded to include submissive masculine, and dominant feminine. Now add sexual preference and gender to submissive, dominant, feminine, and masculine, and you will get, what I refer to as the generally accepted sexual economy. As long as you fall into one of those categories your genitals should be accepted by a decent chunk of the public. Whether or not that chunk is in the same town as you is a different problem. Now if you except the fact there there are people who’s gender isn’t quite so one-sided E.I androgynous, and genderqueer Then thing start to get interesting. You will find combinations that the majority of people find hard to accept. Even people who are normally very open and accepting.  For an example, taken from a friend, he is a gay trans male who some times dresses in Drag. In other words he mostly dresses as a dandy, and on occasion he gose fem de la fem and dresses in as a drag queen. When attempting to become more involved with the gay male community of his home town he was treated with hostility. Among other things he was referred to as a fo-queen, instead of a the drag queen he truly is!

2
One of the tools the women’s revolution has used in their fight for equal rights has been, adorning the masculine persona as an act of reclaiming one’s power. That is to say, participating in acts or dressing in ways that where, and generally still are considered masculine. Images of the empowered seemingly masculinized women are common in our culture from Rosie The Riveter to Tank girl. This revolution differs from the specifically feminine, trans, or drag revolution for one reason among many. During WW2 women were put into the workforce for the first time, and for a time being they were the majority of workers. They stood in the place of what was till that time a man’s world. Thus the image of the strong women became known, common, and at least partly accepted.

This however is not to imply that these portraits are bad in any way, or that this revolution is over and has no more injustices to fight. What I am hoping to imply is that western culture has more of a basis for accepting “women” in both feminine and masculine roles detached from sexuality, then it does with men.

I find that society is much more restricting and less forgiving to the follies of the masculine. Although the feminine and masculine boxes are equal in size the masculine is more rigged. The world is well on it’s way to accepting feminine men, but it does so by turning them into a stereotype, putting them in a box, and associating their femininity with sexuality. It has a while to go before it can begin truly accepting the feminized masculine.

Conversations with my father part 1

Posted in Uncategorized on January 8, 2013 by Zev Ubu
March 14 2001 Age 13One instance of many.“Ring! Ring Ring!” I sat up slowly and looked around my room in a daze.  I scanned the floor covered in clothing, dirty dishes, and the bits of broken mirror, I had yet to clean up from week before.  “Ring! Ring! Ring!”  My eye continued to travel till they found my clock, which sat next to the frame the mirror belonged to.  It was 9am. What an ungodly hour to be awake. I took the phone down from my dresser and promptly ignored it.A few hours later I reawakened putter about brush my teeth and so on. about an hour gose by before I finally listened to the voicemail. It was my father. He sounds panicked.
“Zev wake up! There something we need to talk about! Call me back Dad”

I hung up the phone and My mind went wild. “Shit!” I thought. “ Maybe someone died. My grandpa. He has been having health problems. Maybe there’s been some horrible accident in my family leaving one of my cousins maimed for life… Or maybe he found out I’ve been steeling pot from him.” My blood ran cold. “Shit! He must of saw me last night when I thought he was busy in the kitchen. Fuck!”
I worked myself into a  tizzy and finally built up the courage to call him back. He answered on the third ring.
“Jesus you’re finally awake! Well come to the kitchen I’ll make waffles.” He says.
“Um ok. Is everything alright?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You called me this morning and said there was something we really needed to talk about.”
“Oh yeah do you need a new pair of shoes.”
“What?! I thought someone had died.” I said feeling relieved and annoyed
“Died! What? Wait did someone die?!” His voice took on the same panicked tone it had in his message.
“What I don’t know! In your message you sounded all panicked I thought something bad had happened.”
“Jesus Zev! Don’t scare me like that!” I could hear the click of a lighter then the sound of him taking a hit. As he exhaled he said “So do you want a new pair of shoes or not. I’m worried about your feet in those old boot’s.”

The intention of this blog

Posted in Uncategorized on January 8, 2013 by Zev Ubu

This blog was supposed to be the erotic writings of a modern, poly, sex positive fem-boy. So I wrote down one of my fantasies left over from grade school. Then let this blog sit untouched and unseen for a little over a year.

I’ve decided, for the sake of practice, I will put at least 1 piece of writing up here every week. This writing may be new or may be something all ready written, It may be erotic, ironic, irrelevant, or left with out context. I will also post these writings publicly. If not just to get over my fear of a negative public image. I do not know if anyone will end up reading this blog. If anyone does my grammatical errors will probably scare them away, but no matter this blog exists for my sake more then anyone else’s.

And with that I begin.

Zev Hoffman

The teaching game part 1

Posted in Uncategorized on September 29, 2011 by Zev Ubu

Her porcelain skin has a glow to it. She is silhouetted by the chalkboard behind her. Her light red hair is pulled tightly back in a bun, and held in place by a pair of chopsticks. She wears short Black skirt and matching jacket. The edge of her black lace bra peaks out adding the final trim to the frame that cradles her cleavage. She is sitting on her desk facing the class. Her voice grasps on to me, touches me, tastes me, torments me. She speaks of the innocence, pain and the development of Alexei. I find Dostoyevsky painfully dull, but her excitement on the subject is intoxicating. She is 25 years old, the youngest Teacher at my school, she is 10 years older then I am.  She’s writing on the chalkboard. My eyes fallow the seams on her Cuban heal stockings up the back of her legs, to the edge of her skirt. My eye cradle it like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, a simple misstep and it would devour me whole.  A part of me prays she’ll drop something or need to adjust one of her deep red high heels, anything that will pull her skirt up that last bit, exposing the milky skin of her inner thigh and maybe the black lace panties and matching garter belt I assume she must be wearing. The matching set to her bra. The Thought frightens me, it would fill me up and break me down.

Ring! Ring! Ring! The bell pulls me out of my trance. Class is over. The other student stand abruptly and run for the door. I stay seated. I’m still so hard. I wish for it to go away, so I can stand and leave with my dignity intact. The last of the students make there way through the door.

“Now’s my chance to go, or get left behind…with her.” I think as I take my books down from my desk, placing them in my lap. I stand holding the books in place . I walk as quickly as I can towards the door, only to be stopped by a hand. Her hand. I nearly drop my books. I study the blood red nails wresting so softly on my shoulder.

“Jess would you stay a bit longer?” She asks. Fear shoots through me, “She know of my crush. She’s seen the way I look at her. She’s going to scold me for my attraction!” I feel my heart break and my erection stiffen. I turn and face her still holding the books well over my excited shame. “Um yeah. What’s up?” I try to sound confident but fall short.

“As you know have been falling short this term.” I watch her pillowy lips as she talks “It’s common for student during there last term to not put there all into school, but this will still go on your record and I would hate to have you held back because you didn’t push your self at the time of need.”

To be continued…

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