If I Was Born With a Penis

12 02 2018


What would you look like as the opposite sex?….An app that seems to be the newest Facebook craze going around has got me thinking about not only what would I look like (which according to the app is closer to aging white trash serial killer with terrible facial hair and a possible meth problem than any man I’d want to look like) but what would I BE like if I had been born with a penis instead?

According to my parents my name would be Bryan Buck, which I believe would not have been the best start for a boy born in rural Kansas. Or maybe it would have been the best start, who can really know for sure.

I do know that when an asshole male classmate was cheating off of my math test in 5th grade that my teacher wouldn’t have said to me, “There’s no way he’d cheat off of a dumb girl like you.”

I know that I wouldn’t have been told by my English teacher in 9th grade that Shakespeare was “above my comprehension.”

Or in 7th grade algebra, I wouldn’t have been forced to sit in the corner with the girls so they could “chat,” while the boys learned math because girls were “too dumb to get it.” I would have at least been taught something, whether I did anything with it, who would know.

I know I wouldn’t have been forced to put on a shirt in the heat of summer when I was five years old because a group of my dad’s friends had pulled into the driveway… because boys can go around without shirts on whenever they want no matter how old they are, not just at Burning Man or nudist colonies or in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

I probably would have become a hunter, like my dad. Worked in the oil wells, like my dad. Or maybe a mechanic or a factory worker. I’d probably still be living in Kansas and have a wife and three kids. Or I would have become a pothead like my cousin. Ended up in jail. I most likely would know how to crush a 30 pack of natty light in one night, that’s pretty much a given.

I hope that I would not have been like most of the guys in my high school class who thought it was okay to grab women’s breasts during gym class, during lunch, in the hallways. Guys who would get blackout drunk and piss themselves at parties. Or puke in woods and then come back and try to make out with girls who were not quite as drunk. Or if the woman was quite drunk, I hope I wouldn’t have been one of those guys who thought it was okay to have sex with her while she was passed out. Or thought that a woman “owed” me because she was my girlfriend and had sex with her even though she said no. I hope I would not have been one of those guys who slut-shamed women who didn’t like me back. I hope I would not have been like a typical guy.

Yet, I was not born with a penis. And of course, like any curious person, I have wondered what it would be like to pee standing up, but I don’t necessarily have envy for one. Maybe white male-privilege envy but if that means being like a typical guy from my neck of the woods I’m very grateful I was born Krystal Fawn and not Bryan Buck.

Plus, I would not have been a very cute dude.


(I really didn’t want to show this to anyone, but there you have it.)


I’m Too Sexy for My Yoga?

7 02 2018

The Rise of Vanity Yoga

Though it’s a common occurrence amongst most people in the digital age to fall into what’s known as an ‘internet hole,’ generally the hole is something like cute animal videos or makeup tutorials, which sure, I’ve tripped over those holes a few times myself; I never thought I’d fall into a sexy-person-doing-yoga-at-home-in-a-leotard hole.

Yet, that’s exactly what happened to me the other day. I ended up on Instagram where I watched video after video of these model-looking women do all sorts of inversions: handstands, headstands, forearm stands, with their flexy legs going up and down and around, every single one with their butt hanging out of their outfit, all with this bronzy golden skin, long hair flowing like a waterfall, all seemingly having dancer-esque bodies.

And to be honest, I’ve been confused ever since.

Perhaps, the better word is conflicted.

On the one hand, these women have worked really hard to be strong and flexible. It’s probably been a challenge to become confident in their own bodies, confident in who they are as people, and it takes courage to reveal one’s nearly naked self on the internet. I also understand that many of them probably think it’s the best way to prove they are in proper form. And sure, when I see them I might feel a tinge of envy that they can do some of these power poses better than me.

They are indeed badass, and at times it can feel motivating in an “I want to do that someday” type of way.

But then, on the other hand, something feels icky about the whole thing. I’m going to call the whole scene Vanity Yoga. Because I don’t see how scissoring your legs back and forth while upside down wearing a shiny thong leotard has much in common with actual yoga besides the person’s ability to get in the pose. I mean, a person can make a basketball shot and not be a basketball player.


Maybe I just don’t get it. I’m curious as to what the underlying motivation of this Vanity Yoga scene is all about. Is it to actually motivate other people? Is it to show off their butts? Is it to prove that they’re better than everyone else? Is it to try to get more people to do yoga because beautiful people clearly do yoga? Is it just for fun? Is it to prove to themselves and others that they can get into these poses? Is it to boost their self-esteem by getting a bunch of ‘likes’ from friends and strangers?

I’m sure it’s some sort of combination of the above (and other factors I haven’t thought of).

I mean, I myself put up a pic when I finally was able to get into full lotus after 20+ years of trying because I was excited (and maybe sort of stuck like that for longer than I wanted to be), so I get it, in a way.

Admittedly the issue might be the near nudity. I’m not puritanical, I like to think of myself as sex-positive and yet it’s weird to sexualize yoga. And maybe that’s not the intention, perhaps it’s just because they’re women and women are almost always automatically sexualized, yet, most women know they’re almost always automatically sexualized… so how can women reveal their progression or show off their accomplishments without objectifying themselves? Maybe they can’t? Maybe that’s what they want to do and who am I to judge?

Yet, the word yoga derives from the Sanskrit word ‘yuj’ which means to yoke or bind, and many practitioners interpret as ‘union.’ That union is the union of breath with the mind, body, and spirit.

So, does Vanity Yoga create this union?

Or is it really just vanity for vanity’s sake?

I’m still trying to figure it all out, but for now, I’ll return back to the internet and try to fall down a different hole.

Sex, Tinder, and More Than That

12 01 2018

On changing up my dating life patterns and getting something better than before

Since getting back on Tinder in October of this year, I’ve matched with over 300 people, had conversations with 30% of them, and gone out with maybe, maybe 10 different souls.


It’s strange to me because 300 seems like a pretty big number and yet, I feel more disconnected than I ever have in my dating life. It’s as if the more people I match with the less likely I’ll find anyone of quality.

I know, I know, Tinder was created specifically for quantity. It’s designed so you want to keep coming back because someone hotter and funnier and smarter could be just a swipe away.


I get that we’re all throw-away people to each other now.


That we find ourselves rating our worth on the number of matches we have.

Yet, even though 300 people potentially would fuck me based off of a couple of photos, that doesn’t mean any of them would ever like being around me.

Like many people, I enjoy sex. I also have a higher sex drive than most people, men and women alike. It’s often not difficult to find someone willing to sleep with me. Yet, no matter how much I enjoy sex, one night stands, fucktoys, fuckboys, fuckgrrrls (is this a thing?), no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits–it’s all becoming rather tiring.

It’s time to go deeper with someone–not physically deeper–emotionally, spiritually deeper. It’s like we’re all afraid to actually get to know someone. We come with excuses that are worse than the ones that George and Jerry and Elaine always seemed to find. Hands are too small. Nose is too big. Beard is weird. He still eats Chef-Boyardee. She does this annoying popping thing with her toes. He texts too much. She doesn’t text enough. He sucks my nose when we’re making out. She pees a little when she sneezes. etc. etc.


But why the constant excuses? Is it fear? Is it FOMO? Is it actually justifiable and we should know they’re right from the beginning?


I’ve decided to slow down. To rid my expectations of other people. To attempt to learn something from everyone I meet. To stay curious and open to the exploration of other souls–and at the same time, my own.


The Tinder culture is addicting. It’s like junk food, it tastes delicious but it’s just a bunch of empty calories nothingness.


You keep wanting more but it’s not good for you. Instead of rotting your teeth though, it rots your soul. It makes you feel both wanted and rejected at the same time. It makes you think that the possibilities are endless and you should never settle. And of course you should never settle, but you should also not keep repeating a pattern that fails to live up to anything substantial or meaningful.


I’m not sure if it’s a waste so much as a distraction. A tool that we use to keep ourselves occupied, to keep opportunity available, to see just how fuckable we are on a surface level. Because we all want the possibility of connection, even if it’s just for a night, but many people, whether we want to admit it out loud or not, many of us want something more, something with legs, something closer to longevity.

Maybe all it takes is putting down the phone and looking around, interacting with people in real life situations. It at least seems more fulfilling to talk to someone face to face, see if anything is there, and act upon it if there is, walk away (quickly) if there isn’t?

All I know (which isn’t much) is that I have to stop thinking Tinder is the answer. To be honest, I can barely even remember the question, but I think it has to do with how we uncover love in its long form.

My plan is to create new habits and knock off the bad patterns regardless of how long it takes or how hard it is because I want more–and I’m going to get it.


OKC Broadcast Dating Story Disasters.

12 11 2013

So, OK Cupid added this thing where you can “set your broadcast,” which is basically like a facebook status for dates. People use it to make plans within a two-hour time span. As a person with an adventurous spontaneous mentality I have on occasion tested this, sometimes for fun, when I need a few good posts for Aimless, sometimes when I am actually looking for someone to hangout with because all my “friends” are too busy for me.

jack ass

Story 1: No Confirmation

The first time I ever met anyone from a broadcast I put exactly where I was going to be, which, by the way, is a big mistake. I ended up meeting this guy at a bar near me; he was visiting from out of town and we had great conversation about writing, technology, beer etc. This was not like a date or a sexual thing, just two people enjoying life. Eventually it was bar close and it started clearing out. I guess I had seen the guy from the corner of my eye earlier, but randomly this 40ish tall skinny beaten-down looking ginger came up and started talking to us. Like he wouldn’t stop talking to us. He was drunk. Eventually we got out of there; I looked at my phone and he had sent me multiple messages, messages to the point of them feeling stalker-ish. It was weird because generally, at least in my opinion, you wouldn’t go to a place to meet someone unless the other person confirmed that they were indeed in desire of meeting you.

Story 2: Wiped Out.

Another time I had an extra ticket to a movie and I didn’t want to go alone because it looked like it was going to be intense. The movie was indeed intense, there was a lot of murdering and blood and dungeons and overall weirdness, to the point where I felt like I was going to vomit. But I didn’t.

No, I didn’t.

I got this guy into the movie with me, a ticket that would normally cost $13. I bought us a round at the theater. We then ended up at a bar after where we proceeded to get into this ugly argument about gender. Trust that it’s very difficult to win an argument with me about gender, though it’s a subject I thoroughly enjoy engaging in with people regardless of their knowledge or lack there of. Even though we were arguing he’d slip in stuff about going back to my place and wanting to kiss me etc. which I deflected because I was in no way interested.

In any case, I was slightly buzzed and he seemed to have suddenly gotten drunk drunk out of nowhere. I was talking about something, he took a drink of his beer and then out of nowhere spit it up all over me, like the beer projectiled across the table spraying me all across the front of my body. I stared at him in shock for a moment. Then I stared at him in complete annoyance.

“Dude. Aren’t you going to try to, I don’t know, wipe this off of me?” I said.

He just keeps looking down at the table shaking his head, “I can’t.” he replied.

I grabbed napkins from the bar and cleaned myself off.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to go.” I said.

Then he looks at me confused. “Aren’t you going to pay for your beer?”

By this point I was appalled. “Dude. I watched you the entire time while you ordered and they ran your card.”

“Oh. Oh, I don’t remember that.” He said.

I couldn’t handle the situation anymore. So I told him to deal with it; I thanked him for spitting up all over me and I left.

Later I got an apology text from him for being “rude,” but, yeah, that did nothing to help the rudeness at the time.

So. I think perhaps, it’s time to retire the broadcast idea, it’s probably time to retire OKC in general, but that’s a different story.


The Sexiest Thing a Guy Can Do.

17 03 2013

(And it’s so easy!)

It’s not whispering sweet nothings in my ear, it’s not making 100K a year, it’s not being model fit with abs of steel, the sexiest thing a guy can do is make a decision.

I don’t think I’m alone with this desire either.

How many of us play this game:

via text messages, or phone conversations, or even just sitting around together. I know I have played it far too often and it usually ends with me getting annoyed and not wanting to go out at all anymore.

There are times when text messaging takes so long that I could have gone to the store, bought groceries, come back, cooked said groceries and eaten said food in the amount of time it took to figure out where we want to eat. It’s so not hot.


I understand that upon not really knowing another person well it may be more difficult because one does not know what the other person likes or where they would be good together, but please, if they like you and you like a place, there’s a big chance that they’re going to like that place too.

I just get so tired of the back and forth. Perhaps that’s why I went out with a dom for so long. He’d text me: let’s hang out. I’d say, okay. He’d say, I’ll pick you up at 8. And then we would go somewhere, no long submissive argument. And if I wanted to go somewhere specific, we’d go there, done.

Why is this so hard?

And why is this difficulty so common?

Does it actually come down to passiveness or is it the desire to please that makes these lack of decisions occur so often in our relations to other people?

I’m totally okay with picking something to do, but it should not always be one person deciding.

After doing this for years now, it’s beyond attractive to me now when people know what they want.

Decision making demonstrates a confidence that is very very sexy. We can worry about the sweet nothings, the 100K and the rock hard abs after we actually get somewhere together (and those traits will still not make a difference to me, but that’s another blog for another day).


The Period Means Go.

28 05 2012

It’s the home stretch now kids. Only four more days of Manless May. I realized that I accidentally scheduled hanging out with a man tonight. I may have to cancel, even though I don’t think it technically counts, but just in case.

It doesn’t count because the best thing happened to me the other day.

Can you guess?

It’s what I’ve been waiting for for months. Four months, actually.

My period FINALLY started!

And yes, I had gone to the doctor and they had told me that nothing was wrong even though I hadn’t bled in months, but I didn’t want to take any chances. It was one of the main reasons I gave up dating. I felt that if my body wasn’t behaving properly that I should take time off from people to give it the opportunity to revive. Now it has!

Since my period started I’ve been attempting to come up with the grossest things I can say about it to describe to people what’s happening. Here are a few of them:


IT’S LIKE BRUNCH IS COMING OUT OF MY VAG!!! (this is a bloody Mary reference)



Please feel free to tell me one of yours. It just doesn’t work well to have a 13-year-old-boy sense of humor and then have something so mature happen to me. I feel like I’m not grown-up enough to handle this. Because it’s been a long time. Seriously. I had a 3-day period in January, besides that, I haven’t had one for years. Years!!! Thanks to progesterone-only pills and depo (DO NOT TAKE DEPO, if you’re on it right now GET OFF, it’s SOOOO bad). Anyway, it’s sort of like I’m going through puberty all over again. I even have zits. Plenty and plenty of zits. I don’t know how many of you remember me in junior high–but damn–it’s not quite that bad, but it’s getting there.

One day balance will come.

I just have to let all the weird hormones release from my system.

Taking the month off was really good for me. I remember reading this article about women who take birth control being attracted to a different kind of man then when not on birth control (because of hormone changes). And how many times these couples end up getting married, then the woman gets off the birth control and discovers she’s not so into the guy like originally thought. Yikes. That would be awful. I’m just curious the type of guy I’m going to start being attracted to now that the hormones are closer to being out of my system. Will it be a John Wayne type or will it a James Franco type (like it has always been). Either way I’d like the person to be rich.

Perhaps June will be full of me going to expensive bars trying to find a sugar daddy.

No, no, no. I still have too much writing to do.


Putting My Foot in Your Mouth.

24 05 2012

I’ve finally realized what creeps me out about foot fetishes.

The word, “fetish” itself.

Because I’ve never understood why liking feet has to be considered a fetish.

I’ve done my research. And liking feet isn’t technically a fetish because the feet are not an object–they’re connected to a person– it’s actually a partialism, a part of the body that is of high importance for sexual arousal. When it turns into shoes, as in needing a good pair of shoes to get off– that’s a fetish.

It feels like people are using “fetish” in place of anything that might get them off that isn’t vanilla sex. Like anything someone is attracted to that isn’t “normal” is called a fetish. Perhaps that’s where we’re moving. Or perhaps there are conflicting ideas about its definition.

All I know is that being attracted to feet shouldn’t necessarily be any weirder than liking someone’s breast or butt or clavicle or whatever. It’s being obessessed with feet–to the point of only being able to come if feet are involved–that seems to be the issues that creeps me out.

Also–feet do nothing for me. I think they’re probably the least attractive part of a human body, not saying they’re super ugly, just not a favorite. I don’t really get why so many people are into them, that’s the other issue. It has more to do with me not understanding it, but everyone has their thing. So, I’m just going to leave it at that and walk away.