No matter what one may think of
transvestites trannies transsexuals transgender people, it’s hard to deny that they are tremendous entertainers. Few other allegedly oppressed identity groups can provide such topnotch excitement as one whose members inject bleach into their testicles and deceive biological females into having sex with them by wearing a body suit and a dildo.
I, for one, enjoy perusing such human-interest stories. The trans* community (don’t ask me about the asterisk, but the new rule is that you’re supposed to put one there) has provided me with endless hours of wonderment, delight, and laughter.
So just before Christmas like a big shiny package from a trans* Santa with a long white beard and a saggy vagina came a new present to brighten my holiday mood. My gift was to learn there’s a small movement among primarily female-to-male trans* people for acceptance of the fact that even though, sure, a baby recently popped out of the vagina that was assigned to them at birth, they are literally men and thus should have every right to breastfeed their progeny in public like women do.
But since they are now men—especially if they received radically invasive reconstructive surgery to become who they “really” are—many of them they don’t have “breasts” anymore. So instead of their old “breasts,” they now have “chests.” And because they yearn to feel included and don’t want to be marginalized by their allies, comrades, and fellow travelers, they are insisting that the word “breastfeeding” be changed to “chestfeeding.”
Chestfeeding. I could puke just thinking about that word. But that’s because I’m a bigot. A slimy, squirming, belching bigot. That’s the identity I was born with, and I would please ask you to kindly respect it.
If you’re truly curious what it looks like for trans* “man” to chestfeed, click here or here or here. Those are all photos of Canadian ex-female Trevor MacDonald, a bearded lady who as far as I can tell from my scant hours of research on the topic, is sort of the Nelson Mandela of chestfeeding. Or maybe the Johnny Appleseed of chestfeeding. Or the Shaun King of chestfeeding. Pretty much everything you read online about chestfeeding, Trevor is there, agitating for change and acceptance and progress and healthcare benefits and even for government grants that enable Trevor to publish hifalutin-sounding treatises such as Negotiating Gender: Transmasculine Experiences of Chestfeeding and deliver speeches with titles such as “When Transgender Men Chestfeed or Breastfeed their Babies: How Clinicians Can Offer Support.”
Trevor is not the only person on Earth to make a brave transition from a person with a vagina to a person with a vagina and a goatee. But Trevor is unique in Trevor’s level of dedication to the single topic of chestfeeding. An impolite and uninformed person who’s on the wrong side of history might classify Trevor’s focus as obsessive—or even downright monomaniacal.
Trevor hosts a website Milk Junkies. The site explains that since Trevor no longer has much female breast tissue, Trevor will simply run a thin tube into a baby bottle and stuff the tube and one nipple into the baby’s mouth.
But chestfeeding isn’t solely the purview of female-to-male trans*peeps. Milk Junkies features an interview with a male-to-female trans*individual who took hormones to facilitate milk production and describes the moment they first saw milk leaking out of their former man-nips:
I looked down that day and there were tiny milky droplets, and they were firm, almost like wax. I kept pumping, and I kept getting that weird consistency, and then the next day, it was softer. It got thinner until it was just milk….But it looked like milk, smelled like milk, and tasted like melted ice cream. You could put it in your coffee or whatever!
No thanks, ma’am!
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