Liking Apple Pears

This is a picture of a piece of fruit I bought in California. Another name is “Asian pear” but I prefer “apple pear.”


It’s a funny mix of two things that people stereotypically consider totally separate: apples as separate from pears — and yet, here are the attributes of both, in one piece of fruit.  Also, it’s delicious and it doesn’t have the typical drawbacks of either apples or pears.

You probably can already see where this is going, since you’re reading this in the blog of a trans girl who is a mix of things that people stereotypically consider totally separate: female brain, hair, skin and boobs, as separate from male plumbing and male bone structure.  And yet, here are the attributes of both, in one person, writing this article.  Whether or not I’m delicious, opinions vary.  Until recently, my own vote was a resounding “no.”  I hated having been born a weird mix and fitting in with neither gender stereotype.  Until recently, it was an unpleasant concept for most of my adult life  — but for me as a teenager, it was excruciating — and dangerous.

Fortunately for me, some girls are attracted to the androgynous look. I noticed that as to my dad. No surprise, my mom and dad divorced when I was two years old.  My very free-spirited dad had a VERY androgynous look, which was dramatic in a culture (South Africa in the 1960s and 1970s) where even wearing deodorant (at all, ever) was considered sissy, even in a hot climate long before air conditioning was commonplace. In the culture at the time, males were typically trying to out-macho each other.

By contrast, my dad moved with a sort of feline grace; one girl observed him and wondered aloud if he was gay.  My dad replied with “no” and explained the merit of moving like a tiger as opposed to an oaf.  When a gay guy tried to pick up my dad, the reply was “not yet, first I have to have sex with every woman on the entire planet and after that I might consider sex with guys next.”  My point is that “gay guy” was not the explanation.

My dad had very long, curly hair, dyed pitch black or bright red, and typically wore thongs as underwear, blue jeans and jean shirts as main clothing — or dramatically colored overalls such as bright yellow — and elegant boots.  Cleanliness was always a priority, for hair, body and clothes.  Health was paramount.  Booze, drugs and cigarettes were simply uninteresting.  A dazzling smile was part of the charm.

For many years, my dad drove a bright orange dune buggy. A guitar was always close at hand. Having two engineering degrees and a Ph. D. in biology, and having grown up as a street kid and street fighter, then literally working as a rocket scientist and an undercover government agent (yes, really), speaking seven or eight languages including Zulu … my dad was unusual.

As to sexuality, my dad was very open-minded but also very promiscuous.  I have yet to end up in bed with a girl and not have an emotional connection with her; my dad didn’t seem to have that sort of wiring, and the array of pretty and interesting girls cycling through my dad’s bedroom seemed like a blur to me and seemed tantamount to magic, for my teenage mind.

My only viable means of teenage rebelliousness was to be conservative and pompous, so I once asked with preemptive disapproval how many girls had been in my dad’s life, sexually up to that point in time.  My dad stopped and thought hard.  “About three hundred,” was the reply. Holy cow.

My dad was not a classically attractive person as to facial features, aside from piercingly blue eyes with intense intelligence.  No puzzle was unsolvable; certainly not science, chemistry, engineering or math, but also not practical issues like fixing things.  McGyver is a fictional character; my dad was the real thing. As to the puzzle of connecting with girls sexually, that wasn’t a hurdle either.  Evidently, the androgynous look was not a deterrent.

My dad passed away a few years ago after a massive life style change in which adherence to a conservative male role had become the agenda.  To this day, I wonder if my dad might not have been a trans girl.  If I had to guess yes or no, I’d guess “yes.” If you take away 3/4 of the evidence, I’d still guess “yes.”  Recently, I finally asked my mom, who thought hard and then drew the same conclusion with a margin of certainty that got ever wider, the more she thought about it.  For several months, dinner conversations with my mom would often include her mentioning yet one more reason to support her conclusion.  By now, it’s a long list.

In males and trans girls with XY chromosomes, the Y chromosome gets passed down intact from the parent male (or parent trans girl) so the so-to-speak paternal line might well be the link as to trans girl genes being passed to the next generation. That would explain a lot, as to me.

A friend of mine has two daughters, born to two different wives, in successive marriages. His two daughters had virtually no contact with each other, growing up.  One of them was raised almost completely in his absence.  Yet they’re both trans girls — and out as such, even though they live in a culture where being trans is downright dangerous.  So, if the father’s DNA is the one common causal thread, that would explain a lot, as to this situation.

Females tend to focus on their partner’s mind, as to connecting sexually and romantically.  So even when I was overweight and unhealthy-looking, girls still picked up on the female mind in the male body, and the latter suddenly didn’t seem to matter much.  I tried hard to not look androgynous. I tried to look male, move like a male, sound like a male … but girls saw right through that. With some, it was explicit; with others it was more implicit, just (as they described it) an amazing mental connection that they never had with a guy before or since (and now we know why).

Now that I realize I’m a trans girl, i.e. fundamentally female, I like to look, move, sound etc. as female as I possibly can, and the androgynous look is now very apparent.  I also don’t have to ponder how this plays out as to me trying to get girls interested in me because I tend to get hit on often enough.  Evidently the androgynous look has its merits.

Sometimes I wonder about other historical figures who have passed away, and I wonder if perhaps that person was a trans girl but in an era where coming out might simply not have been viable.  The brilliant artist Prince comes to mind, and I mean this with the utmost respect. If you know the Prince story, perhaps you’ll also respectfully draw the conclusion that it’s a reasonable possibility.  As to the sexiness factor of Prince, as to many girls, it was off the right side of the scale.  Examples abound, but the most eloquent example of that evaluation is in this interview, just beyond the 3:15 mark.  The simple sincerity and immediate reaction are wonderful. And no, I’m very much not suggesting that being androgynous is the main reason for anyone, especially this particular interviewee, to like Prince.  But being androgynous was certainly not a disqualification.

On the other end of the spectacularity scale, here I am with my humble degree in accounting and auditing, no Ph.D., minimal guitar-playing skills and with the pace of girls coming in and out of my bedroom so glacially slow that my dad would have considered that as imperceptibly slow.

And yet, I have enough wonderfully nice romantic-interest girls in my life to by now have finally convinced me that I should have stopped feeling sorry for myself long ago, and that me being androgynous is not a disqualification as to being attractive.

As to guys, i already know this. Guys tend to obsess about me, and when I was doing escorting, that was useful. However, my brain isn’t wired for romancing or being romanced by guys, so that audience doesn’t really register, for me.  As to girls, the issue matters 100%, for me.

All of this brings me to the Wicked Weasel bikini competition.  Basically, a girl buys some of their swimwear, informally models it, gets pictures taken and sends these to the company.  If the judges like the pictures, they post them, and winners receive  an impressive prize consisting of much more swimwear.  So, last night I sent them my pictures with the wording:

* * *


I”m entering the competition.  I’m wearing:

317 digital rainbow tri top: multi: medium
212 digital rainbow bikini bottom: multi: large

I’m a trans girl.  Until recently, I thought it’d be pointless to enter since it’s not mainstream and many people don’t like trans girls.  But then again, many people (girls and guys) very much do.

So, without me striving to be pretty in the pretend-not-to-be-a trans-girl paradigm but openly as a tall, muscular, blonde trans girl, I asked my girlfriend to photograph me and here’s the result. She likes my look; even if you don’t, please consider that others might.  And — all natural. No implants. 🙂

Thank you for your consideration.  If I need to improve anything specific, please guide me.

~Tanya Charbury

Reno, NV, USA

* * *

This fulfills a fantasy I’ve had for a great many years.

Even if I don’t come close to winning, I tried, and I’m glad.  Sometimes an apple pear wins the taste test, sometimes not — but without being entered into the competition, certainly not.





2 thoughts on “Liking Apple Pears

  1. Hi it’s Davina, this is the first post I’ve seen in a while. You write so well. Just wanted to let you know I have been full time for a month. Life is great

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