I live in New York City, which has a lot of sex shops. Sex shops are some of the most trans friendly places I know, filled with packers, STPs, binders, and even guide books on handling coming out.
Last April, late at night, I ventured to a nearby sex shop. I was feeling so dysphoric and I needed some relief. I went poking around the trans section when an employee, a transmasculine guy himself, offered to help me. He showed me all the binders and how to choose the right one
I went into the dressing room and slowly slithered into a tight bright white Underworks binder. I looked up into the mirror, and I saw my chest flat. I started crying. It was the first time I had seen my chest flat since I was ten years old. I was completely overcome by joy.
Growing up, I loved being shirtless. I wandered around my house shirtless. I swam shirtless. One day, my chest started hurting, and I asked my family doctor what was wrong. When he told me I was growing breasts, my first question was, “Okay, so when do they go away?”
I thought I was never going to see my chest flat again in my life. I thought I was doomed to die with these things latched onto me. But when I put my binder on in the dressing room, for the first time in eight years, I finally got to see my body the way it was always meant to be.