With barely three weeks to go before the op, I am at last discerning an effect from cutting-off the feminising hormones.
No, it's not dark bristles sprouting again on my upper lip, nor hairy legs or muscular arms. Nor have I become moody and irritable, or inclined to pick fights. Nor do I scream or cry, or speak in a savage manner. Nor have I taken up an obsessive interest in power tools and their use.
No, it's quite unexpected. I've become physically aware of myself to an unprecedented extent. I mean the whole me, not just the bits that are shortly to be transformed. It's catching sight of my arms and legs, and my diminishing but strangely more feminine chest, and the waist, and those curving hips, and even my lips and the way my hair falls. The diet has made my limbs more slender than they were, and the look of them is not only fascinating, I actually feel that I'm going through an accelerating physical transformation. And - unheard of this - I feel positively randy at times. And I don't mean as a male on the rampage. I mean as a female wanting to be seduced and taken. And soon I will in reality have the right equipment for that.
This is terra incognita indeed. I must get a grip on myself. I don't feel like this all the time, and I'm in control, but a powerful volcano, that may erupt rather messily, has clearly emerged from lifelong dormancy. I can't say yet what kind of person may abet me in these fantasies, and I have positively no plans to instigate anything, but I'm treating these strange sensations as a wake-up call. I'm saying to myself: 'Watch out - you see your ugly face and think you'll be immune from all problems. But your body is not listening. It thinks it's a contender. You'll have to take care.'
Someone tell me it's just a temporary effect of unchecked testosterone, and that post-op, with a bruised, swollen donut down there, and a clitoris I can't use for months, I won't feel quite so much like a slightly improbable teen nymphomaniac!