If I Were a Boy

I imagine what it’s like to walk the world in your body. Tall and strong with broad shoulders and dark, driven eyes. A presence that commands attention. A body that feels solid and possibly threatening.

I imagine what it feels like to have a beard. A softnesss to stroke during contemplation. A stylistic expression of masculinity. A mask to hide vulnerability.

I imagine what it’s like to have another man tell me that I’m handsome. To acknowledge his compliment with a “Thanks, Bro.” With a hardened edge that tells him and everyone else in earshot that I’m not gay. Because masculine beauty can be confused with homosexuality. Or, even worse, femininity. Femininity and homosexuality are weak. Nothing about me is weak.

I imagine what it’s like to captivate women. To notice them noticing me. To sit, surrounded by women and wonder what they’re thinking of me. To attempt to control their perception. To have them yield to my gaze. To see me as physically and sexually capable. As impenetrable.

I wonder what it’s like to soften. To remove the mask and allow myself to be seen. For my eyes and lips to curve at the corners; to smile without giving myself up. My muscular shoulders dropping as I release my defenses.

I wonder what it’s like to have the fears, tragedies and misunderstandings of masculinity cast upon my body by strangers. What it’s like to be asked by a woman for a hug. Her small arms wrapping around my waist because she can’t reach my shoulders. To have her rest her ear on my chest. To listen to my heartbeat with her body pressed against mine. I could crush her but, against her own misgivings, she practices trust in my presence.

A Celebration of Two Years!

This week marks my 2 year anniversary on Substack. I originally took to this platform on the recommendation of a friend after lamenting that OnlyFans didn’t seem like the right fit for a physician to be talking about sex. She, like many others, suggested that Substack is like OnlyFans for intellectuals.

At the time, I tried to conform to the “branding” style adopted by so many medical influencers and sex educators on other platforms. Polished headshot. Clever Logos. Cartoon educational panels created in Canva and sprinkled with stock photography. But conformity to trends or social expectations has never really been my thing. I found myself becoming resentful of the arbitrary “content deadlines” that I created for myself. In the lead up to the 2024 US elections, I also found myself feeling less frisky about writing exclusively about sex. Sometimes geopolitical tragedy has that effect.

So I released myself from my own expectations. I’ve allowed myself to write about a broad range of topics at a pace that feels sustainable. I create and publish visual art that I’ve created myself or shot with other artists. (Thanks, as always to Threat Culture Media for the feature photos above.) In so doing, my voice and intention has organically evolved.

I’ve allowed myself to explore a vast array of subjects that interest me: medicine, women’s health, global migration, AI, relationships, kink and human sexuality. Sometimes I hide Easter Eggs of medical education or allegories of consent in stories about play. But I do my best to write with the dignity of the reader in mind. The venerable Nan Tepper commented that I’m “like the Dr. Ruth of this Generation.”

Some of my most popular essays on this platform are my essays about leaving the United States. I think the story of the American emigrant is especially relevant as greater numbers of scientists, academics and marginalized folk seek to relocate to countries that align more with their values.

On reflection, I’ve come to recognize that the unifying theme of my writing is consent. Consent to participate in a professional relationship. Bodily autonomy in medical decisions. Consent to participate in sexual play or platonic physical touch. Non consensual subjugation to AI. Consent of the governed.

I’ve always been an unruly person. I don’t submit to arbitrary authority and have a tendency to remove myself from relationships (personal, professional, sexual or governmental) that rob me of autonomy. I hope my words, backed up by actions, continue to inspire you to reclaim your own autonomy. And to be a reminder that consent can be withdrawn from anyone at any time for any reason.

Take care of one another!

Warmly,

Amber Hull, DO