I have misconceptions about people, and I assume others have similar thoughts about me. My girlfriend Susan teases me about being crude like a man. Whenever I misbehave she says, “You’re such a dude.” She’s the lady between us, although I wear the skirts. We each play our roles in the relationship as do most, whether spoken or not. People in general are hard to define, add a second dimension, a relationship, and the story becomes blurred, two-fold. We’re complicated, all of us.
I met a he who became a she; at first all I could see was the he behind the cosmetically enhanced she-mask he was wearing. There was something about her eyes that gave him away. I’ve never really thought about eyes as being feminine or masculine until I looked into hers and saw his. There were other obvious clues as well like height, hand, and foot size, and the possibility of the presence of an Adam’s-Apple. This person is definitely a transvestite, or commonly called a trannie (although that’s not very nice, but if I’m being honest it does give me tickle.) This person could also have under gone a gender transformation procedure, I can’t say for sure until I look at her parts to see if she’s still a he. Boy, I mean girl, am I confused.
What really tangled my thoughts like a wedgey was a guy whom I thought to be gay. He’s light and sensitive, and dresses with a snazzy two-toned-loafer type flair. I was surprised to hear that he was in a heterosexual relationship; I assumed I knew more about him than he knew of himself. It was obvious to me that his salmon pink trousers, nu-buck kicks, and his comment, “I’m trying to get in touch with my emotions.” Squealed, “I’m so gay!” said with a lisp, and a turn of the hip.
Hold up, it doesn’t stop there; next he said something else that made me realize how ignorant, judgmental and downright ridiculous my thoughts can be. He said, “I’m still not sure who tell about my gender change.” Um, hello, he said, “His gender change.” He had once been a she, but I never knew it, nor did I see it with my expert-read you your rights-eyes. It all made sense, he is a straight man, and he’s also a little effeminate. He used to be a she who was a lesbian, obviously in need of a dick. That’s my take. But who am I?
The truth of it is, only he/she, and she/he know what it’s really like to be the wrong gender -housed in the shell of something your brain tells you- your not. I, on the other hand can only speak for myself, (except when I THINK I know more than you, or them, daily, even hourly.)
As for me, I’m perfectly content in my glorious female body, despite all it endures. I’m happy to be round and lovely, smooth, and soft, and able to think like a man when it counts. I can give Susan all the catcalls any Tom could lift his leg over. Sometimes I do it just to hike her fur. I wonder if my motivation is feral or domestic?