From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were-I have not seen
As others saw-I could not bring
My passions form a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone.
~Alone, Poe
All my life, I've tried to mold myself into the way that people wanted me to be. It didn't matter that I wanted to wear jeans and a tshirt and not a dress. It didn't matter that I wanted to play kickball with the boys instead of dress up or tea party. It didn't matter that I noticed the girl's butts as well as the guy's butts like I was supposed to.
No, none of this mattered. What mattered was that I was the golden child, the oldest child, the one everyone looked up to, I couldn't possibly be anything less than 100% straight and a perfect little girl.
I continually felt it...the pressure behind their stares, the need in their eyes to have me be perfect. The constant pinching of cheeks and assertions of "oh what an adorable little girl you have!"
Hawaii was a paradise for me. At least socially. There, it was acceptable for girls to wear shorts and t-shirts, for girls to be a bit rougher than on the mainland...after all, it was Hawaii. I spent my childhood there, from kindergarten to fifth grade...My best friend was an adorably cute little Philipino or Korean girl...I know she was some sort of Pacific Islander, I just don't remember which kind. I loved her, and accepted her without thought. Another close friend was this white bread hick who seemed....a bit odd. I don't know what it ws about her...even in memory, my gaydar pings. Then came Eve, my closest friend in all of my time in Hawaii. She was fantastic...I loved her too. These girls saw me and accepted me for who I was, and I am grateful to them for that. I doubt whether they knew I was gay even back then, but you never know.
I don't remember all of my times with them...I do remember playing house with Jessica and talking about boys with Marlina and riding around on bikes with Eve. For some reason, whenever I was with Jessica, I was the Daddy and she played Mommy...we would have these little fort houses made from blankets.
With how close I was to them, it was no wonder that my mom was surprised the first time I told her I had a boyfriend.
I was a bit of a slut in my elementary years...odd as that sounds. I remember having a different boyfriend every year until fifth grade. For some reason it never worked out...oh yes, I remember why, they were jerks. I think there was maybe two of them who may have grown to be decent human beings. Not that judging solely from what they were like in elementary school is a real indicator, but still...
Middle school caused me to re-evaluate myself somewhat. It wasn't until my eighth grade year that I had another boyfriend. Penguin Boy was most interesting...I think he was the first male I was ever able to love on any scale. I swear, if that boy hadn't been younger than me, I would've lost my virginity to him.
By this point in my story, some people are saying "OK! TMI! WAAAY TMI!!!" Do I care? Why don't you read the next paragraph and find out.
That was the beginning of my masculinization, I would say, during middle school. By this point, it was well established in my family that it was like pulling teeth to get me to wear a dress. I was rarely seen in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. I was the only girl who regularly wore a baseball style cap. I looked rather good in it, if I may say so myself.
I was still a rough and tumble kinda person. I took karate and seriously whooped ass. That was fun.
I remember wanting to be friends with the older, attractive girls...at the time I had no idea why. I remember thinking that I could do a much better job of being Tommy than the sad excuse for a tenor my director had chosen...and I remember wanting to be the one in the kilt and not the dress. The play was Brigadoon....nice musical. I still had no idea there could really be anything other than male and female relationships. I remember looking at the girls who were changing and comparing them. I had no idea what I was doing.
It was only out of my extreme love for the theater that I was ever able to put on those dresses willingly.
My freshman year I was impacted greatly by Valerie, a very strong and inspiring girl. That was when the questioning began.
I was the girl who was always in jeans, a t-shirt and most noticably, a baseball cap. Same hat everyday. I saw no reason why I had to be different from the guys. Problem one, I suppose.
You should by now have realized that this is the start of my Columbine years. Surprisingly, there is little anti-gay sentiment, at least, little that I saw. I got more shit for being part of the "Trenchcoat Mafia" than I ever did for being gay.
Apparently, by freshman year, it was glaringly clear to people that I was gay. Wish they could have clued me into it. I never had any models growing up, besides straight couples. This should come as no surprise, since I DID grow up in a military environment. Marines, to be specific. Yay devil dogs!
Regardless, for all the pressuring to be perfect, I actually grew up in a fairly accepting family. If my former father had not been such an asshole about it, I might have actually had a positive gay role model while growing up. But, because of him, I lost what would surely have been a great friendship with not one but two great gay men, both good friends of my mother, and one of whom has already died of AIDS.
But I digress.
Freshman year for me wasn't the hell I was lead to expect. Maybe it was because I had already suffered hell in middle school, I don't know.
So now I'm sitting here, listening to Jill Sobule sing "The Resistance Song" and I'm trying to think of how to phrase the rest of this.
Why not bluntly?
I lost my virginity in less than memorable afternoon, to a less than memorable guy. Then I had a nice enough boyfriend who later turned out to be yet another asshole.
Are we seeing a pattern?
By this time, I had begun to despair of ever finding a guy who was a true gentleman or who could let me be in charge as I unknowingly craved. Not quite Dom/sub control, but...I dunno, maybe Dom/sub control.
I met my friends a long time before this...they were excessively good to me. One of them was a bisexual male, the first truly gay person I had ever met. I once confessed to him that I might be bi as well...he took it with a surprising lack of laughter, as I look back on it now. He must have thought I was a freak for not seeing it as everyone else could. He responded to my shocking revelation in exactly the right way, not telling me to make up my mind or pressuring me, but giving me a quiet kind of support that made it easier for me to come to the realization myself as is right.
Regardless, I was very touchy-feely with all my friends, hugging and whatnot. If you saw me with my friends, you would think we were about to go off and have an orgy. It was a regular occurence for me to have a girl on my lap(is it any wonder I like lapdances...). The girls all apparently liked me well enough, they wouldn't leave me alone. I even had two friends who would make out with me(this was after I knew I was gay, of course.) They never wanted anything other than kisses, which I gladly gave, as they were nice looking girls...well, except that one time. I digress once more.
It wasn't until the end of my junior year and the deaths of my friends that I stopped lying to myself and began to accept myself for who I am and have always been. I'm nothing more than I have ever been.
It took a long time for me to accept myself, and an addiction to the internet helped out some. I was able to research into what I was finding out about myself....and look at a lot of pretty girls. Like Angelina Jolie. I think she was the first I ever heard about any sort of lesbian activity. I lived in sort of a vacuum until my high school days I suppose.
I'll be the first to admit it...I'm a pig when it comes to looking at other people. I've been smacked, popped, walloped, ect, for rubbernecking. Right now, I'm content, so I rubberneck for pretty cars and bikes more than I do for pretty girls. I cheered when Jared Leto had his pretty boy face pounded in during "Fight Club". He's too...pretty.
Well, after the summer before my senior year, I knew I was gay. Lucky me, I was sitting next to the only confirmed lesbian I'd ever known in one of my classes. She never really made a secret that she thought I was cute. I do believe she was creaming her panties next to me when we talked about sex.
And this was me before I identified as butch...I have no idea what she saw in me. I was terrible to her and that shames me. She couldn't possibly have known that what she offered me wasn't enough. It would never have worked, her and I. I'd like to say here and now: I'm sorry for the wham bam thank you ma'am move I pulled on you. You know who you are. I still haven't seen High Art. When I do, I'll be thinking of you.
After her, I was indescribably more comfortable with myself and my gayness. It had been confirmed-I had slept with a chick. So what did I do? I started dating this nice little freshman who had already had at least two other girlfriends, both older than me. I didn't know it, but she was anorexic, and more than a little obsessive. Guess who became her obsession.
I've always been laid back. I've rarely been the dumper, always the dumpee. It takes a LOT to make me call it quits. I could have easily had a longer relationship with her had she not been so..well, clingy. She calls me every once in a while. Just to let me know that she still loves me. I'm waiting for the day that I open the door and she's standing on my doorstep.
With her, I felt something...different well up inside of me. She was feminine, but not overly much...not femme-y. She was a tweener and I didn't mind, not that I knew what that was at the time. She began to bring out the butch in me. I gave her my coat when we would be walking in the cold, I opened doors for her, that kind of thing...I wanted to treat her nicely. Yet even with all this, I couldn't deny that I didn't feel the fire that I thought I should. I felt barely anything. I enjoyed kissing her, but I felt no need to ever go any farther.
So I ended it. The first and only time I've ever dumped someone. Didn't stop the phone calls, but what can you do?
So I moved on. And fell in love for the first time.
Any of my girls who are reading this page can now take out a contract on my life if they so wish.
J. I'll only refer to her as J. She was amazing....two years younger than me, but oh so fine... Even remembering her makes me smile. One of my favorite things about her was the way she would always give me this one special look anytime I said something risque...so, of course, I always said risque things when around her. I now know that is that certan look femmes give to butches. J. was....is....my first love. I can't change what I have felt for her, and a part of me will probably always be in love with her.
She is the first one who made me feel truly butch. I didn't understand it...I wanted to sit and watch her as she did anything. I wanted to sit with my arm on the back of her chair, comfortable as she socialized. I wanted to hold doors for her. I wanted her boyfriend out of the picture. I wanted to be the one who's name she cried out in a moment of passion. And if she hadn't had her mouth otherwise occupied, she might have done that.
I don't know if she's still dating him. We don't talk about him. I do know she does love me too. She has told me so repeatedly. I wrote her poem after poem, some of which I have up on this site. Whenever I talk to her I am reminded of the times we spent together, and I cherish them.
The time that I could have been with her has passed. Will it come again? I don't know. Right now, I don't want it to. I am happy with my life.
I can only thank J. and all my ex's for one thing: You all made me who I am now.
J. especially. You helped me begin to realize that I am and always have been butch.
In all seriousness, men leave me with a void. I'll talk to them and try to have some sort of intelligent conversation...I think I have found about...three men who I was able to have an intelligent conversation with. It didn't help I was always surrounded by the "jock" type.
I can't be in a mutually beneficial relationship with a man. I am judging off of the life experience and the men I have met and gotten to know. Who's to say maybe there's a truly amazing guy out there. To quote Jules of Pulp Fiction..."That'd have to be one fucking charming mother fucker." I can't even begin to list how amazing that man would have to be. If I did, this page would run on for eternity.
This is not to say I hate men or hate penises. I have no patience for idiots and fools and most men I meet fall into that catergory. I look more masculine than you, what makes you think I want to bend over for you? For all you know, I'm packing heavy meat, just waiting for your virgin hole. Speaking of meat, I'll admit it. I love penises. Adore 'em. Can't get enough, especially if it's femme cock. Well stacked femme with a pink sparkly rod jutting from her crotch? Hot as hell, man.
I love penises. I just don't like the factory settings.
Women....I love all women. Tall, short, thin, wide, I don't care, I love 'em all. That's another reason why I don't have a boyfriend. Men tend to get annoyed when the person they're with doesn't fawn all over them. I'm more the kind of person to be fawned over than to be fawning.
What I find visually pleasing and the kind of person I like in a relationship tend to be two different things. (This line has gotten me into trouble. BIG trouble. I had a huge ass bruise.)
The one person who did quite a lot for my butchness was a very good friend of mine and my first femme girlfriend. I enjoyed my time with her and am grateful that she liked me enough to want to spend that time with me. With her, I could be mostly everything I always wanted to be. I could be her butch gentleman and it was ok. For that, if nothing else, I loved her. She meant the world to me and I can definitely say that without her, I would not be who I am now.
Now, though, I've been able to do some intensive thinking. I've thought back on my life and looked hard at who I am now. I've found that my presentation of self has not been in keeping with how I feel.
I am transgendered. I was born female, however, I do not feel that way. I am now and always have, felt like a man. When I was younger, I tucked my long hair up under my baseball cap and would walk around in public, acting like a boy. It was comfortable and it felt right.
This is not to say that I am going to have lots of painful expensive surgery in order to look like a man with my clothes off. In all likelihood, I will never get anything done beyond a breast reduction. To quote another stone butch: "It must be God's big joke to make butches well endowed."
My gender is stone butch tranny boi. My sex is female. My sexual orientation is...complicated. That would require another long essay to fully explore, and even then not completely.
I realize this page has the possibility to get me into major shit. After all, my mother can read this.
If I may quote?
"So fucking what!"
~Haruka Spork Tenou