The prequel consists of a couple of posts that I wrote before I came out as a transguy, and I think it would be fit to move here. These are rather lengthy so if you have no passion for reading long time you could always stick to my new posts, which I intend to keep shorter.
July 6, 2015
I got a little bit caught up -specifically, in the arms of my neighbor. Though I knew this guy slightly – had seen him out and about with friends of mine – I couldn’t have guessed in a million years that he lived just across the street. This “know your neighbor” business became more pleasant than anticipated, very surprisingly so. The romance was rather like us – careful, considerate, but also questioning and hesitant. Overly so.
So while this isn’t a Couple of the Year story, the moment of communion that we had did underline a few subjects for me that I had been thinking about before that time. I happened to be Q, when he came around. I had just recently written to a friend of mine about genderfluidity. “You’re rather gender fluid, aren’t you?” – I’d inquired. “You’re pretty much the only one I know who is like me in that way“, I wrote.
Her reply helped me a lot. “There is a lot of people like you and I in the LGBT community”, “Except you’re straight, right?“. Yeah, pretty much. Women are an issue for me. There have been a few women that I liked. Most of them fictional. Like Molly, in Rubyfruit Jungle (by Rita Mae Brown). And there have been women who wanted to be with me. And then there is my mom. My mom who dresses like a lumberjack.
My mom helped me be the Q in LGBTQ. The “oh my God, who am I?“. Had I become my mother? But then I remembered. She did buy dresses for me. I had pink boots with a raised heel. I had barbies, too. I had cars too, lots of them, and LEGO. And then when we moved to an outdoorsy place, I pretended to be a native American and forage for food in the wild with my bow and arrows. There was no worry about gender.
The gender issues started in High School. I went to highschool in a little town on the outskirts of F*ck This Shithole. Most girls there had one thing in mind: find a man, marry and have kids. Which is great. If that’s your thing. Me, I became the poster-child for teenage rebellion. Friends and enemies alike started calling me Eminem, because I had started to bear a resemblance to him.
Enter “adulthood”. The bewilderment. I tried to be a “woman”, whatever that means. But more often I didn’t feel like “a woman” and I did not feel like “a man” very specifically, either. At times I felt more like one than the other, and the other way around. And it was at this point that my neighbor walked into my life, and declared that he had freshly come out of the closet and that he liked men. We fascinated each other.