My Relationship with Mr. X.

      There is one man who is extremely special to me, close to my heart, and who I will always have a certain amount of love and desire for. He was not like any other man that I have ever known, let alone dated, and his story is so inspirational and inspiring for me. For his sake, I am going to keep his identity secret, I'll call him Mr. X throughout this post, and I won't be telling his story of his experiences and struggles. I want to share the story of his and my relationship (the term is used loosely as it is complicated and not quite so easy to define) from my point of view, the experience that I had and my personal adjustments, thoughts, and needs throughout the experience.

         Mr. X was born a female; I don't know at which point he knew that his mind did not match his body, I don't know when he decided he wanted to start the process of transitioning from female to male and to make his body feel the way that it should in order to match his mind. But at some point, he realized that he was not a female, that he was not a lesbian, that he was a straight man and that he would do what he needed to do in order to bring that realization to fruition. Despite our relationship, these are questions that I never asked, because I didn't think it was important. To put it very simply, I liked him. I liked him, the man that I met the first night we spoke. 

           I have always been a very carefree, outgoing person; I enjoy gay bars, drag shows, strip clubs, basically any place or event that I can really be myself without worrying about judgement, being surrounded by like-minded people. I had a lot of friends who were exotic dancers, and I spent a lot of time at the strip club if I wasn't at the gay bar. I never really made an effort to hide my interests, I am a proud bisexual woman and I have no issue with the world knowing that about me. So if I see someone at a strip club that interests me, I am absolutely not shy to approach someone that I am interested in - dancer or patron. 

            So one night, I am hanging out in my favorite strip club, and I see him sitting across the stage waiting for his lap dance. I was immediately interested, but I actually didn't go say anything to him. To be totally honest, right off the bat I couldn't tell if he was male or female; he was a gorgeous, androgynous person that I wanted to essentially take home and have my way with. Realistically, i didn't see a relationship with him as I noted quite a few other women with their eyes on him (including some of the dancers) and I just don't stress a person when there is a lot of competition. I like my relationships stress free, drama free, I like my relationships to be really easy. Something in the way that he carried himself, the way he smiled, the way that he seemed to casually notice every single person screamed high maintenance. 

             At some point, he finally caught my eyes. I know, for a fact, that he had been trying to get my attention from across the stage without making a big deal of it. Either he got my attention and we were interested, or not. It was really that easy. And boy did he get my attention. We spent most of that night chatting while we enjoyed the atmosphere, and come two am (closing time) we decided I would go home with him. And this is where things began to creep outside of my comfort zone, sending my into the spiral that was Mr. X. 

             The intention in going home with Mr. X was to get laid by this amazingly attractive woman; I walked into his place with no thought other than hooking up and going out. But it just didn't happen like that. Mr. X was genuinely interested in me, he wanted to talk to me, to get to know me, to form a bond that went beyond skin on skin, sweat on sheets. So he insisted that we talk; we sat on a couch rather than the bed and he was just far enough away that he could predict and defend against me throwing myself at him. I have always been very free with my sexual favors; I have never thought that love and sexual physicality are intrinsically connected, so call me a slut but I wanted to hook up with him and I wasn't shy about that. But I suppose Mr. X wanted a bit more than just one night. We sat on the couch for about twenty minutes, talking about little things, starting to establish a real conversation. And then Mr. X dropped a bombshell on me; he looked me in my eyes, put a hand on my thigh (of course I was thinking that something was going to happen...finally!) and said that he had something important to tell me. I can't even remember the million thoughts that rushed through my mind, after all, how could some one have a huge bombshell to drop when you've just met someone unless it is a question of STIs, an already established relationship that doesn't involve you except in the case of cheating, something like that. But what Mr. X told me was so much bigger than that, Mr X. chose to share something extremely private and important, within hours of meeting me; he very calmly and quietly told me that he was a man, not a woman. Of course, for a moment I thought I had mistaken his gender, but then what he said really sank in; Mr. X was born a woman and had the mind of a man, he was a woman anatomically but in actuality, mentally, emotionally, chemically, he was a man in his heart, mind, and soul. While I have met plenty of transgender men and women, in various stages of the transition process, I had never slept with a transgender person (male or female) and I have never dated one. Obviously, I was shocked; not shocked that he was experiencing Gender Identity Disorder (I have been studying psychology for school for many years, so I had some in depth knowledge of the psychology of the issue prior to meeting Mr. X, instead I was shocked that he chose to share such a personal and intimate detail about himself with me, someone he met only a few hours before and who had no intentions of anything beyond sex and perhaps a casual friendship. But this revelation propelled our 'friendship' into something a bit more serious, it was impossible to only have a one night stand at that point. I had two choices; I could either get up and leave, or I could stay - permanently. 

            Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against transsexual men and women, I have no judgement and no hesitation. The issue here was that I didn't know this person and he had just shared an intensely personal fact about himself. After a confession like that, after showing so much trust and faith in me as a person, I couldn't be halfway in and halfway out; I had to be dedicated to being in his life and being supportive, or I had to be gone. We sat and continued talking, and honestly I don't remember much of the conversation. I do remember smiling, nodding, and telling him that I was okay with what he told me. I remember that I felt it would be rude to pry and I remember that I made a serious effort to show that I was absolutely comfortable and okay with that. I have a tendency to get lost in my thoughts and drift off to space (something that he knows very well about me, five years later), so I knew that I couldn't let that happen because to someone who doesn't know me it is not only disrespectful, but it also gives the feeling of discomfort and a lack of acceptance. 

             We didn't have sex that night; we talked until I was ready to go home. I called a cab and he yelled at me then demanded that he take me home. I had not yet made a decision about if I was going to stick around and be the friend that I could tell he wanted me to be, or if I was going to just cut that thin cord and allow the two of us to go our separate ways. He parked the car, but I couldn't get out right away, some inkling of my body was telling me to stay, and when I looked over at him I actually looked at him. I don't just mean that I looked at him, I mean that I saw him as the man that he was. I realized that I couldn't just not be around after he shared that with me. I just couldn't do that to someone so honest, kind, and upfront about something so personal. In hindsight, I realize that he shared for more than just my own comfort and knowledge; I have a strong feeling that he needed to have a partner (sexually, romantically, as a friend) who knew right from the start, who could always think of him the way that he thought of himself. So, I kissed him on the cheek, said my goodnight and went inside. 

             We didn't become lovers right away; there was a long and complicated friendship that formed from there. We had days when his T made him so angry and aggressive that I could hardly stand him, days where he made me so angry that I could barely stand to be near him. And we had good days, when he was so wonderful and attentive. Those were the days that made me stick around, the days that got me through the bad ones without getting up and leaving his ass alone until he chilled out. I remember one day, he taught me how to do his injections, and he laid with his head in my lap for over an hour, clinging to me as if for dear life. To this day I still wonder what was going on in his head at that moment. 

            He was an excellent lover, attentive, patient, determined. But, no matter how much I love him (and I do love him, I always have and I probably always will), it was a surprise and an adjustment every time we made love; it never failed to catch me off guard when we were intimate and I had to see that his body was a that of a woman when he was a man. He is a man, in heart and soul, and it actually pained me to see him in a body that didn't belong to him, stuck wondering when he would be able to be the person that he wants to be on the outside. It is difficult, for all people involved, when someone chooses to go through a transition of one gender to the other; whether they choose to fully transform their bodies or if they feel normal enough with the body that they have, it is difficult for family and friends to adjust and learn how to treat that person after learning something like that. Really, even knowing that he is a man from the first few hours, it is still, to this day, difficult to remember that in some instances he is not a man and I have to use feminine gender pronouns, and after a day of calling him a 'her' going back to the proper pronouns in private is difficult. It is incredibly difficult to not call him handsome when I am so attracted to him and I am having a conversation about him. It is difficult to remember who knows him as a male and who knows him as a woman. It is so hard to keep track of all of the rules, because realistically that is exactly what they are. It is difficult to remember the preferences of that person who is transitioning, it is difficult to remember who knows and who doesn't and it is so incredibly difficult to be the person that they need you to be. 

             Mr. X's story is not mine to tell, and I would never infringe upon his right to privacy. But our relationship as lovers and friends is one that has been long, complicated and one of the greatest experiences of my life. So while I cannot speak to the process of gender transition from personal experience, I can speak about how it affected me and offer insight into how you, as a transitioning person, can do your part and make it just a bit easier on those who love you by being patient and understanding. Perhaps I will elaborate more on this topic with the help of Mr. X down the road, but for now, just know that it is difficult for everyone, not just the person whose brain doesn't match the body. It is so hard to not only adjust to gender pronouns, but to adjust to compliments being the right way (pretty, not handsome or vice versa), bouncing from one name to another, acting appropriately based on their needs and comfort level, and adjusting to preferences in sex during all of these changes. 

The Gay Pride Magnet

As a proud veteran, I have seen some significantly homophobic things in my adult life. Which was really shocking to me; I grew up in a relatively accepting family and I never saw any sort of homophobia, prejudice, racism (beyond the normal jokes that all older people think is funny), or anything else along those lines. So, when I joined the military, I didn't really understand the total ramifications of the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. Needless to say, it wasn't something that I even thought about when I got to Basic. I understood that my leadership couldn't know or they would be legally obligated to start a discharge for homosexual behavior. I was one of eight lesbians/bisexuals in my bay (basically a giant dorm with bunk beds and no privacy) and we all kept to ourselves in a little group that we knew was safe. But I fucked up; my best friend from Basic, someone I am still close to, needed my journal for something. I honestly can’t even remember what at this point. But, because we were so close, I didn't even think twice about letting her use it. I assumed she would lock it up in her locker when she was done with it, but I didn't actually tell her to do that. So when she was done, she left my bright purple notebook on my bunk and left the bay. Leaving my journal, full of lesbian details, snippets of every conversation, thought, and gay intrigue that crossed my mind throughout the day, in the open. Out in the open where one of the Drill Sergeants found it. So our bay was tossed (meaning that it was destroyed, mattresses everywhere, blankets a mess, everything out of order so that we could clean it up later) and the notebook disappeared. Thanks to some sarcastic, cryptic comments from my female Drill Sergeant, I knew that she had taken the notebook and the mess in the bay was punishment for the infraction. Nobody got into trouble for anything written, but I felt like shit for a long time. Essentially, I had put all of the gay girls in my bay at risk, and put myself at even greater risk. I could have ruined my career with a few sentences left on a bunk, and it really hit home for me what the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” really meant for women like me.

Shortly after all of that, another girl (who none of us knew was gay) came out to our Drill Sergeants and used that to get out of the military. She didn't finish training, she didn't even have to participate after initiating her own chapter process. I had been told that you could get kicked out, but everyone was willing to just turn a blind eye to the homosexuals in training, so it was strange to see them actually chaptering her out. But realistically she didn't give them much option, she told every single leader that she could that she was gay and that she absolutely did not want to stay in the military. So, in a short eight weeks, I had quite a few brushes with the ‘man’ in terms of homosexual conduct and it was actually a major eye opener. Luckily, the DADT was repealed and the gays can serve in peace, with all the rainbow pride they can muster.

After finishing Basic Training and my job training (Advanced Individual Training), I finally got sent to Fort Riley, and that was the first time in my entire life that I was targeted for my sexual orientation. I bought my first car, a gorgeous little Pontiac Vibe in deep blue that glittered in the sunlight and never did me wrong. The first thing I did to personalize it was to put a little peace sign magnet with rainbow stripes on the back hatch, and I left it at that. I didn't put a “gay and proud” sticker across my window, nothing that screamed “I like pussy” or any other lesbian obscenity. I bought the car on a Saturday morning, put the magnet on it on a Saturday afternoon, and Monday morning when I left my barracks room to go to work, I was called to my First Sergeant’s office. She proceeded to tell me that one of the NCOs (basically a lower level of leader) had complained about my gay pride magnet, that it offended him and that I was required, because of the DADT to take the magnet off of my car. Of course, my personal vehicle can have whatever I want on it (I served as a paralegal, so I was well aware of the rules and regulations) and I politely refused. I was threatened with being chaptered from the military for homosexual behavior, but I didn't back down. My First Sergeant agreed to do more research and to leave the issue alone for the time being, and I went about my day as if nothing happened. But the next day when I went to my car, the magnet was gone. Someone had taken it off of my car and gotten rid of it. I was informed later that day that the NCO who had complained had actually taken it off of my car and thrown it away, making its removal a moot point.

But I wasn't okay with that. It was just a damn magnet, but it was also so much more than that. That magnet quickly became a symbol of the first time that I was ever targeted for my sexuality, forced to cover it up and hide it from the world over something as stupid as a suggestive magnet that I could have just liked because of a rainbow. I ended up being right in the end, my unit was told that they can’t control what I have on my personal vehicle and when I replaced the magnet I never got more than a few dirty looks for the incident. I had to make a huge deal out of it, I made a target of myself for defending my right to have a damn magnet on my car. A lot of the lesbians I knew from units around Fort Riley didn't agree with me, they were too scared of being targets themselves and I understand that.

Although the victory over the magnet was not a huge one, it was not one that would tip the scales in one direction or another, it was a victory that showed me that ignorance can be fought with a bit of persistence and education. It was a victory that showed me that it doesn't take much other than a level head to make a real difference. The magnet was a symbol of the smallest change in my life that really meant the world to me. At the time, it was one that I was so proud of and so honored to have claimed for myself. All it was, in reality, was a lesson to that leadership about the lines that were present in the personal and professional lives of their soldiers. But I would like to think that those leaders took that lesson and applied it appropriately in the future. 

About Molly and Tommy

   I am sure that the title of this blog does not make sense to the normal person who has found this little gem via google or Facebook or whatever internet resource that fuels the anonymity of the web. But 'Molly' and 'Tommy' were terms that were used frequently in the 1700's to describe homosexuals. 

   'Molly' was used to describe homosexual men, especially homosexual male prostitutes. The term was used as a nod to the (perceived) femininity of homosexual men. Understandably, 'Tommy' was used to represent lesbians. You guessed it; 'Tommy' was used to describe lesbians because if a woman was into women then she must have been far more masculine than the heterosexual housewives. 

   Obviously, these terms are long gone, dead in the world of euphemisms and slang. But they do serve some purpose, especially for what I want to write about. The way that we describe homosexuals has not changed over the years, not in the slightest. It has literally been centuries and the same misconceptions about homosexuality exist today, they are identical to the very core of their definition, of their belief, and the citizens of the world have done nothing about it. 

   Personally, as some variance of homosexuality myself (we will get into my classification, identification, and categorization of myself later), I do see the LGBT community working to change some things, but it seems, to me, that the community as a whole focuses on the trivial that don't do as much good in the long run. Don't get me wrong - gay marriage is an issue that affects a lot of people and that should absolutely be available to homosexuals. But there is much more important. 

   We do not call African-Americans the "n-word" anymore, we don't force them to enter buildings through separate doors, we don't have colored water fountains and white water fountains anymore, we don't make them sit at the back of the bus. We (I see we, as a white American speaking from the white side of the issue) don't segregate, differentiate, mistreat African-Americans for the color of their skin anymore. Now, let's be clear for a moment, I am not saying that homosexuals have to ride at the back of the bus and can't use the hetero water fountain. But the fact that we still, after centuries of progress and decades of acceptance, use euphemisms and terms that can be easily compared to the "n-word" is a major problem. 

   In my opinion, this issue is more important than gay marriage. It is more important than demanding that a catholic business run by a judgmental fuck make a gay couple a cake for their wedding. No matter what equality we demand, as the gay community, we cannot truly change anything about the way that the world seems to be working either against us or parallel yet separate to us unless we make it unacceptable to be called anything other than the actual term that describes us accurately. A lesbian should not be okay with a heterosexual calling her a dyke, a stem, a stud, a queer, whatever it could be. A lesbian should only be okay with being called a lesbian. Anything less is derogatory in that it disrespects the basic definition of her sexual orientation. I understand that equality goes much deeper than name calling, but our names are literally who we are. If we can't stop people from calling us by names that are not our own, from calling us by nicknames and terms that belittle us and our sexuality, then how can we ever expect anything more from the world? Personally, I don't want to be marrying a dyke, a femme, whatever. I want to marry a woman (or man, whatever), regardless of her sexuality. Just a woman.

   When you meet someone, do you automatically ask if they are straight? When you see a woman holding hands with a man, do you whisper to your friends 'is she a hetero?' No. But if you see a woman holding hands with a woman you have to ask if she is a lesbian. So why do we allow heterosexuality to be the social norm?