I’m not a big party person, but the parties I do attend are usually “come as you are,” which means I don’t wear a pants stuffer. In fact, I never wear a pants stuffer, even to the most formal affairs (although I’d love to find one dressed in a little tuxedo).
I stopped wearing a pants stuffer (or “packing”) about the same time that I decided I wasn’t going to have any kind of “bottom surgery” (although speaking of “bottoms,” mine could definitely use a little nip and tuck right about now).
For the first two years or so after transition, I regularly wore a pants stuffer. I had several, and although the seven-incher was my favorite, it seemed a little showy for everyday wear. But I didn’t like wearing a harness, and so I would just shove my packer into my underwear, where it got hot, sticky, and bulky-feeling in the summer, but stayed in place until it was time to go to the bathroom. Then, more times than not, it would flip out onto the floor, creating a Twilight-Zone scenario for the guy in the next stall, and sending me diving for it while I was still trying to pee.
I got to a point where it didn’t really matter anymore, and I was far more comfortable going au naturel — not naked, but just with what nature gave me.
It’s been years since I’ve packed, but last week, I was at a party as part of a work requirement, filming a drag queen performance (this is the kind of work assignment I have — really; you can see the video on YouTube). This drag queen, Nuclia Waste, who also happens to be an acquaintance of mine, reached down and grabbed my crotch during her performance — and of course, there was nothing there.
She knows I’m trans, but because most people think that trans people “have the operation,” I’m not sure what she expected to find. When I saw her later, I said, “Did you think there would be a dick in there?” and she just laughed. So I still don’t know.
But for the split second that she grabbed me, I almost wished I would have been packing — not because I really care, but because it would have given her something to grab.
I actually bought a nice new pants stuffer last year. It’s silicone and came in a box, where it still lives. I’ve never worn it, and I don’t know what possessed me to buy it. Since I had gotten rid of my others long ago, I think I just wanted to have one “on hand” — or maybe for someone else’s hand. But I’ve never cared enough to actually get it out, put it in, and get my money’s worth out of it.
But after being groped — and after also filming a bunch of Baskit underwear models on the “runway” at the same party — maybe I need to reconsider and start packing at parties. At my age, I need all the help I can get.
On the other hand, at my age, the chances of getting groped are slim. And, at my age, there’s a tendency to put comfort before beauty, and that packer looks awfully comfortable in its little box, and I feel awfully comfortable without it taking up space in my pants.
So I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wear it at a New Year’s Eve party — just so auld acquaintances won’t be completely forgot.
(Photo: not me (hah, I wish) — a Baskit underwear model, showing off what nature gave him)
Interesting post – I am really enjoying your book (Just add hormones) and last night was reading the “Dickless in Denver” chapter. It really resonated for me, even as a trans woman. I hate the artificial parts of me – I hate wearing a wig, I hate wearing breast forms – I barely fill an A cup after 14 months on hormones. When I wear a top, bra, and no forms, I feel good. My partner thinks I need the forms to look “right”. Your chapter made the point of accepting having a trans body – and I am finally beginning to do that. I know my body will keep changing for a while – but I am not pining away for something I don’t have. I am basking in the acceptance I keep getting from friends I am out to, and in the acceptance I am finally giving myself – and maybe that will inoculate me a bit from unkindness I’m sure I’ll eventually encounter.
The other day, I was trying on a pair of jeans at work (don’t ask), and my coworkers kept saying, “Pull them down farther on your hips. They’re riding too high for guy’s jeans.” I said, “I’ve got this pelvic bone here. It won’t let me pull them down any lower.” I have a trans body. There’s nothing I can do about it, so I just have to accept it, pelvic structure and all.
I’ve seen a lot of bodies in my time, trans and non-trans, and I can say that very few of them are anything to write home about. I think we just have to accept that, like 99 percent of the people in the world, our bodies will never be perfect, but they can serve their purpose of carrying us around from place to place.
It’s dangerous to allow a man to choose the size of his penis. Larger or largest are not necessarily better in this instance. What to do with the impractical, old, and unwanted ones? Sad to throw them in the trash, bizarre to them give away, and perhaps best disposed of in fire. For years, creative sock origami worked for me as a packer, until I discovered the joys of anonymous online shopping. Then, of course, I went overboard. Official packing came late to me in life, but, I do enjoy the shape, weight, and presence of a fairly realistic looking one. Good things do come to those who wait. Consider the packer as an accessory. It doesn’t define who we are. Once in awhile, even us old timers need to get out in that tuxedo and strut. Cheers!