This piece isn’t new, it’s been sitting in the hard drive for a while. It’s not where I am now, but I thought I’d like to post it.
Old School Archive: The Faggot & the Femme
Last night my girlfriend was on the phone with a trans-masculine friend who recently broke up with his girlfriend. I heard him comment to her, “I guess testosterone makes everyone gay but your boy.”
I found myself upset about this statement. What DOES my relationship with a femme mean to my sexual orientation? Before trans I was a dyke. A pretty dykey dyke. And adored female masculinity. Or more accurately, feminine masculinity. With my gender transformation from Lesbian to genderqueer transman came testosterone and top surgery. These are not prerequisites to be a transman, but for me they were important. Now my body felt like my own. Bring on the yoga!
And the sex! I had a high sex drive BEFORE T, now it was crazy. The first few months were actually difficult, until the sex drive settled out a bit. And did my sexual orientation change with my gender? If I wanted to be with women, was I now a straight man? And could I never be the faggot I felt inside?
Before trans there was dyke. And before dyke there was Lesbian. And before Lesbian there was bisexual. And before bisexual there was an adolescent girl who loved Judy Garland, collected musical theatre cast recordings, was an avid hiker, and fit nowhere. A little snip here, a little shot here – now i’m a 30 something feminine man who has a hot Femme girlfriend, is turned on by flat chests and dicks of all shapes and sizes, slipping my hand into my lovers, and has a preference for the color pink. And I fit nowhere.
What does it mean to be a fag? I think sometimes about how different it feels to be snuggled close to another transman than to a woman. Shapes are different. Sensations, prickly vs soft. Hard vs curvy. And sex is different. One is full and sweet. One is desperate, hot, and heavy.
But the thing that I dwell on the most, is what it MEANS to be (or be read) as a gay couple vs a “straight” couple. I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Thanks to an efficient societal system that makes sure masculine women and feminine men know their place I’ve developed a highly tuned vigilance to protect myself and my tribe. So, when a co-worker told my love, “I don’t think it’s fair that you identify as a lesbian since you get to kiss your boyfriend in public,” I felt like her comment was misguided. I don’t believe in perpetuating a hierarchy of oppression. And I understand where her comment came from. But what is mapped on to me and what I hold inside me are two different things. AND I don’t know that the tall voluptuous brunette in cowboy boots kissing the short faggotty feminine looking guy wearing a pink belt and a tie that says “suave faggot” blends in as well as the co-worker assumes.
I miss being queer. Being with a man, having a family together, moving through life together – seems like it would feel really different then The Faggot and The Femme. And I yearn for it. I yearn for people to see me how I see me. And so what becomes of The Faggot and The Femme?
This morning, after a night of tossing and turning, I asked my love, “Can I be a faggot and still be your boyfriend?” She bent down to look into my eyes and said, “I always knew you were a flaming bisexual faggot!”
” Of course you can! Like what I said the other night… my boy didn’t turn gay when he took testosterone because he was already a queer and kinky bisexual!”
