I would like to introduce a new character to the strange land that is my transition. You’ve met Madam Oestrogen and the Cankle Pixie. Now I would like you to meet the Hairy Fairy.

I have never been a very hairy person. Even back in the day when I bothered about leg hair, I only shaved every year or two. I did shave my armpit hair, but more so that other people wouldn’t comment on it than actually wanting to have bald pits. My one claim to hairyness was the single, solitary hair that grew on my chin, and that my partner insisted I pluck. Quite rightly, as it did look odd. I briefly harboured a plan to let this hair grow and grow until I could coil it into an avant garde beard.

I have started to shave, though this is mainly tidying the bum-fluff that has become more apparent since starting hormones. Some lovely friends have offered to show me how to shave properly, but for now I am happy in my solitary ritual, that leaves me feeling smooth of chin and very grounded. Strange how a simple thing like shaving is so good for my head.

My past history and my genes both point to the likelihood that I will never be very hairy, even on testosterone. Despite this knowledge, I still pore over my body regularly, seeing what has sprouted, thickened and spread. Whilst I am quite happy to spend the rest of my days as a bit of a baldy, I would still dearly love to see hair growing in a more ‘manly’ way – chin and upper lip, chest, arms and legs and that ‘treasure trail’ that leads from the belly button down.

And lo! The Hairy Fairy has provided. In the stupidest of all places. I have a patch of hair growing on my tummy. I am monitoring it closely, like my own personal Farmville, and it is coming along nicely.

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