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Thread: I'm curious how many transgender or sissies have suffered physical orasexual or mental abuse.

  1. #1

    Default I'm curious how many transgender or sissies have suffered physical orasexual or mental abuse.

    I have suffered from all three of the abuse as a kid and don't know if that has anyiinfluence on who I am as a transgender person. I've always wanted to be female female and became big and strong macho man because in Montana as a kid men or boys were not supposed to be feminine. I'd put on my sister's clothes and make up on in secret. As a kid under the age of 10 I'd dress up as a girl with sister,

  2. #2

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    I was adopted at the age of two into a normal household, my new mother a school secretary and my dad a clerk. All I ever knew about my birth parents was that one of them must have been a professional musician because I was told I was musical. They were right as I'm a professional, classical musician. My adoptive mom was German and my dad, Lenni Lenape Indian. My cousins, also Lenni Lenape, lived in a row of houses, two lots down. By the time I was six, I discovered them, and wanting some kids my age to play with, I begged my mom to let me walk over to their houses so I could play.

    They were different ages, and they were dirt poor. My parents didn't have much money, but they had less. I was an overprotected, sensitive musician, and they were brutal, especially to me. There weren't many days that went by that I didn't get beat up and ran home crying. My mom got so fed up with it all, that we moved three years later.

    We moved to a middle of nowhere community near Barnegat Bay in New Jersey. I've written a short story and a novel about that place. Though I didn't get beat up every day, as I grew older, I'd get propositioned by boys to "do" things to them. I don't know if I gave off a gay vibe that I was to young and too naive to understand, but they did. Again, everyone was either lacking in income, like my parents, or dirt poor. My best friend was dirt poor, a year or two older, and eventually made sexual overtures which I didn't understand.

    Things got better as I got older because I began to find myself. I also lifted weights for self protection. When I graduated from high school, I went to an east coast music conservatory where I was with other students and guys like myself. Somehow, we all have to find our own way. I eventually did but there are painful memories which remain.

  3. #3

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    This is not the usual story, but it's mine. It happened in France a few years after I'd transitioned.

    I was traveling across Europe, staying with people I knew in various countries. My last day I had arranged to be in Paris because, while I knew no one there, I simply couldn't go to Europe without at least seeing Paris. But the way the planes run I didn't get there––after checking into a hotel near the airport and catching a train into town––until late afternoon. Not a lot of time to do more than quick sightseeing. And it was also a Sunday. So I grabbed a tourist map and started walking down the wide sidewalk along the Seine toward Notre Dame, figuring I'd begin there and walk back up to the Eiffel Tower, thus seeing (just seeing, but there wasn't time for much else, and as it was the end of my trip I had no money left anyway) the highlights. As I was walking, a man roughly my age asked me in French if I needed any help. I told him I had a map, happy for a chance to try out my really awful French, and that I was OK. Instead of going away, though, he continued the conversation. He was an Arab man, not tall but well built and handsome. I could see he was flirting, but in all honesty that was such a new experience to me at the time I didn't really understand that I probably should not encourage it. He asked if he could walk with me and I let him, again happy to have the chance to talk in French.

    We walked to the Cathedral, missing the chance to go inside, and turned back up the Seine with him pointing out many things I might otherwise have missed. Then he took my up some quaint side streets to the Tower Plaza. We arrived there at twilight. Scam artists were doing things like handing out flowers and then hitting you for money; he recognized the scams and saved us from them. We sat in the plaza for a while and watched the Tower as it lit up, and then walked on. I said I needed to get going because I had a flight in the morning; he told me he'd take me to a station. So we started across a bridge. Partway across, he suggested we go down a small set of stairs to see the view of the river, and we did. Looking out of the Seine in the warm Paris night was intoxicating. When he moved in to kiss me, I let him, but I was wondering what the hell I was doing.

    We didn't stay there long actually. He walked me across the bridge to the station. When we got in, he showed me where to go to catch my train back to the airport, but to my shock it was closed for the night. The Metro closes for the night in the City of Lights? Apparently it does. He helped me to ask around; there was no way to get back until early morning, and I was––as I said earlier––out of money, so I had nothing for a cab or anything like that.

    So he told me I could sleep at his place.

    Somewhere in here I'd begun to realize how unbelievably nšive I'd acted all day long. How I'd put myself into this indefensible position and I had, essentially, no way out. What was I going to do? Wander the streets of Paris all night alone? I told him I was uncomfortable, but he assured me it would be fine: he was merely offering me a place to crash. I was not worrying only about his wanting sex, which I did not. I was very worried that, if we tried it, he might not fit (as a couple of other men had not) into my too-tight vagina and that he'd figure out I was trans and then... I was shaking just thinking about what might happen to me, in a foreign country alone. But I went with him, thinking I was piling bad decisions on top of each other.

    It turned out he lived in a studio flat on one of those Paris street corners where you passed two bakeries just down the road. There was no bed, just a couch. He offered it to me and I accepted, immediately climbing in, fully clothed, and rolling over with my back to him to sleep. Some time later I felt him crawl onto the couch behind me, and I thought: this is what I get for being stupid. He was saying sweet things to me, but it was clear he wanted some payment for his kindness. I tried to say no, but we not only had a language barrier; we also had an intent barrier: I'd let him kiss me earlier and I didn't know how to explain to him that was different without making him angry...which I definitely was afraid of. He grew more amorous, and I realized where this was inevitably going to lead...and what that might lead to. So I thought about it and did the only thing I could think to do to keep him out of my pants.

    When it was done––and I kept my eyes closed the whole time, which didn't stop me from crying, but my eyes were half a body's length from his so he didn't notice––he was satisfied and rolled over and fell asleep. I had to try to sleep the rest of the night with him by my side. I quietly cried myself back to sleep.

    In the early morning, we awoke and he took me to the station and put me on a train. He waved goodbye, smiling. I'm sure he had no clue that I'd recorded the entire thing indelibly in my memory as a coerced sexual act and felt betrayed and filthy because of it. For years, on odd occasions his face would suddenly appear in front of me and I'd shudder in fear. It has not happened for awhile, but it took a long time. The whole thing happened because I was ignorant and still needed validation as a woman, not to mention someone to speak crappy French with. He took advantage of that––and me––and I'm sure his memory of that night is a lot nicer than mine.

  4. #4

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    I could write a book on my abuse I suffered all 3 and had a poor childhood till I was seven years old

  5. #5

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    I don't think my abuse stemmed from me being transgender, but I think people had suspicions I were gay, and used to bully me and beat me up for those suspicions at the time I wasn't even sure of my sexuality, but I guess I turned out gay.

    So, I can say yes I've suffered abuse due to my feminine characteristics I seem to act more on the female side of things unintentionally and people mistook that as being a homosexual, even though I turned out as one later on. (I'm what we call a straight female (MTF))

    It's sad that we live in a time where people bully others for being gay, trans, black etc, we still don't have full acceptance sadly and may take a very long time before that happens but we are getting pretty far compared to the 70s and 80s.

    My bullies practically called me a "faggot", homo etc, I didn't even at the time realise I loved men, I didn't discover I was gay and trans until I was 17, I had suspicions when I was 15, It was a odd incident I really wanted to try a bra for some reason, than that lead to me discovering that I was transgender. after that realisation I thought, maybe I'm gay so I explored that a bit and realised I like men sexually. It's odd that I found out so late, but maybe I was suppressing it? who knows. It's hard to explain, but obviously It was one of those times where I realised, crap I'm a girl, not a guy, and it all clicked, but I didn't fully understand my feelings.

    That being said, I've always leaned on the "female" side personality wise, so that made me appear "gay" and people generally made that conclusion I was gay or into guys. I didn't even think it was that noticeable but looking back it kind of makes sense.

    But I've got to admit, I don't accept myself fully for being transgender, but abuse mostly caused that, as it's not treated as socially normal with most people, and we often get treated like animals, so yeah.

  6. #6

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    Binary I don't know if my abuse caused my Transgender either because I have wanted to be female as far back as I can remember at the age of 2 but I think it has influenced my sexuality I am lesbian on top of being transgender..

  7. #7

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    No sexual abuse... A very limited amount of physical abuse from my Father, but far more psychological abuse. In addition, I was severely bullied, but not really due to looking or acting girly, despite being often mistaken for a girl until I was 13 or so... I was bullied because I was short, skinny, had red hair, thick (coke bottle-bottom) glasses, and a buttload of freckles. I was also an "outsider", moving into a close-knit rural community when I was twelve. For several years, until I got big enough to defend myself, my life was hell.

    I've always wanted to be a girl, as long as I can remember. I used to dress up in Mom's clothes ALL of the time, and the next door neighbors (when I was little) had a son my age, and a daughter two years younger. I would often play dress-up with her and my female cousins, even going out on Halloween in her Brownie uniform, two years in a row

    During my bullying period, I retreated into myself, and the only thing that brought me comfort was wearing girls' clothes. I often STOLE from clotheslines in the neighborhood, and got caught more than once. I've had a "girly stash" of "borrowed", stolen and bought clothing for my entire life. These days, of course, everything I have I have bought... Thank the stars for Ebay and Amazon! Now, my "girly stash" is more accurately my entire bedroom

    Like I said, I've ALWAYS wanted to be a girl, but I often wonder if the shame I felt at being bullied, the feeling of not being able to defend myself like a "man" should, may have actually intensified my desire to be a girl. I was obviously LOUSY at being a boy, wasn't I? Totally useless... Surely I would be a much better girl? That was the thought process of a bullied thirteen year-old sissy (and a bullied fourteen and fifteen year-old sissy, too), anyway
    Last edited by BritneyShagwell; 20-Mar-2017 at 22:50.

  8. #8

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    Quote Originally Posted by babyleanna75 View Post
    I have suffered from all three of the abuse as a kid and don't know if that has anyiinfluence on who I am as a transgender person. I've always wanted to be female female and became big and strong macho man because in Montana as a kid men or boys were not supposed to be feminine. I'd put on my sister's clothes and make up on in secret. As a kid under the age of 10 I'd dress up as a girl with sister,
    Mental emotional abuse here - therapist describes the things I went through as a "legit mind f***". Things that called into question the very essence of self and gender identity.

    In my case it 100% is what made me a Sissy ABDL LG and whatever else you wanna throw in. After nearly a decade of therapy with a few different very good therapists (and some not so good), it's so very obvious for my case.

    A little physical abuse, too, but nothing too horrible.


    Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

  9. #9

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    Sexual, no.
    Physical, yes.
    Verbal, yes.
    Emotional neglect, yes.
    Physical neglect, no.

    And all of that is prior to 12.

    Additions after edit start here:


    Now that I've slept and got over my cold I figured I should expand on my answers.

    Parents divorced when I was 2.
    My Dad was emotionally distant, when ever I wasn't doing something up to his expectations he would equate my performance to that of a girl. My step-mom was manipulative and controlling. One of mu earliest memories of her was being dressed as a girl. Ultimately I was isolated socially.
    My Mom was always moving, was emotionally needy, and gave me immense freedom. Some of my earliest though are of her drunk abusive boyfriend.

    Up until this year my Dad had no idea of the abuse. When I talked to him he actually cried, this is the first memory I have of him showing emotion. Took me 24 years to talk to him about it.
    It was around 4th grade that I started dabling with dressing and acting the part. Which at first was shrugged off as a stage. By 5th grade I was seeing a child psychologist. Which continued off and on until I moved in with my Mom when I was 16. I gave up the dream at 18 when I entered the Marine Corps.
    Post miltary I spent a couple years doing PTSD treatment, also did a lit of general therapy work during that time. Of course I still wear diapers and I still think I am a girl.

    Anyways I'm almost at work. Hugs!
    Last edited by Addy; 07-Apr-2017 at 17:44. Reason: Adding additional info

  10. #10

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    I'm not transgender, but I've done plenty of the crossdressing and sissy sort of thing over the years. When I was growing up, because I wasn't potty trained at three like my sister (it took until I was five and even then I still had trouble over the years), my mother used to put me in her old dresses and skirts to make diaper changes easier. It wasn't long after that my mother and father divorced, and it was extremely bitter between them. It didn't help me having a personality just like my father or looking as much like him as I did, my mother viewed me as a small version of him. She was extremely controlling and manipulative.

    As I grew older, I never seemed to be doing anything good enough to get recognition from her and my stepfather. What seemed to change it was when I was thirteen and asked about what it was like to be a girl and mom decided to have me spend some time dressed as one to learn firsthand. When she found out that I seemed to like it, she bought me my own clothes and encouraged me to dress as a girl, trying to get me to start hormones and transition. She pushed hard for it, and my stepfather wasn't one to go against her on anything, so it wasn't until I moved out that I was able to be myself truly.

    So emotional and mental, yes.

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