Transition Guy

"You can dance if you want to…"

by Sheryl S.

  

The year was 1983, and as I recognized the beginning noted of Men At Work's "Safety Dance" , a serene smile played across my lips. I had been checking out this adorably freckled redhead with a double-dimpled smile all evening, and now unmistakably, she was smiling back. "I wonder…", I thought, "if I could be this lucky." But, in the next breath I was confident that I would be again. So, I went up to her, much to the relief of her three commiserating girlfriends. It was obvious that they had wanted to get up and dance with their guys, but wouldn't leave Helene alone during her time of need. I had watched and listened enough to know she had just been dumped. When I came over, smiled my most ingratiating smile, and asked her to dance, they couldn't encourage her to say yes fast enough.

I knew where this was going to lead. Of course, most guys would avoid this situation like the plague. Helene was in transition – on the rebound. And, I saw the ugly bruises; it was nearly impossible not to notice them. She had been beaten – very recently and very brutally.

When a guy starts things off with an abused chick on the rebound, one of two things happen. The first was a real bummer for most guys although I did have a friend, Saul, who enjoyed it. You could push her with every inch of masculine aggression you had. Either she slaps you and goes on her way and you're dead, or she lays like a lox for a sacrificial screw. If it's the latter, Saul's favorite outcome, then she feels guilty for acting like a cheap whore (in her own mind) later, screens out your calls on the answering machine, then never talks to you again.

Or, you act like a gentleman, and ask her out again, and again, slowly graduating to kissing and petting, but not wanting anything from her except for a good time. She acts like she's falling for you, but really she's just grateful, but doesn't feel she deserves someone so nice, and feels she can only love someone who treats her like shit. In her heart and soul she believes she deserves no better. So, it all gets so perverse! The

nicer you treat her and the more you support her, or worse, tell her you love her, the quicker you will wind up dumped by her. And it will be for a real dirtbag – possibly a new one, or possibly the one who had just dumped her and beat her. You were her transition guy, and before it's done she'll have treated your love like a doormat. She'll feel guilty about it, and offer to do anything (short of sex) to make it up to you, but your legacy to her will have been as her doormat, nonetheless.

Yes, it's a scenario most guys avoid like the plague. But then again, I wasn't very much like most guys --- not in my head. In my head, I knew I was female, and knew it from about age four onward.

Looking back upon it, both my Mom and Dad were unusually liberal and accepting. Both of them told me not to worry. I loved dolls but could only play with them sometimes because I had boys' thingies up front, and Bernice and Albie explained to me that a lot of people got real mad when a person who had boy's thingies preferred playing with dolls. They were just being dumb, but why take a chance on getting them angry? Maybe I was really a little girl in the wrong body. Or maybe I was going through a dish-o-sea-ay-tive (well, that's how Mom pronounced it; it was years later until I understood what dissociative really meant) phase, and if so, I'd probably grow out of it when I hit puberty, and go on to be a happy young man. All through my youth I felt supported, not guilty about my feelings because my Mom and Dad (Bernice and Albie) were so "hip." One way I was different from both teenage girls and teenage boys was that I never yelled at my parents, or felt angry, or worthless. I never felt the need to withdraw from them or rebel against them because I always felt truly loved, and confident that we would eventually work things out. It wasn't until much later in life that I learned how lucky I was that my mother was a clinical psychiatrist doing research work for Ginny Johnson.

I seemed to have a less unsettling puberty than boys and gals of my age, and hence was nicknamed, "Mr. Mellow" in high school. I stayed away from contact sports, but loved gymnastics. I also got to really enjoy cooking and needlepoint. No one outside my parents, my mom's two sisters, two of their daughters, my therapist, and my high school guidance counselor knew of my feelings. Occasionally, I was allowed to role-play in women's clothes, sometimes just helping my mother, and sometimes being treated as a teenage girl, but only in the privacy of our home. Once, when I was 14 (still hadn't shown signs of male puberty yet), cousin Leah took me with her dressed as "Cassie" to the movies to see Romeo and Juliet with her. It went without incident, but although my Mom was empathetic and hugged and kissed me, she asked me if I thought it was wise to take such chances. I agreed that it wasn't then promised never to do it again. Since my facial and body hair started becoming noticeable a few months later, the temptation to leave he home for role-play was nipped in the bud. So, the imbalance of being born transgendered seemed more than compensated relative to other kids at this time. Then, I had been accepted for early admissions to Stanford, and reality began to set in. Bernice and Albie said now was the time to think seriously about whether to try to take two years off and work with my therapists and doctors to transition to womanhood before beginning college -- we were pretty sure Stanford would give me a two-year deferral because a lot of their alumni and board members were very supportive of being on the cutting edge (as it were) of nonstandard lifestyles. I wasn't sure whether I was ready, but after much back-and-forth, decided to apply for the deferral so I could begin hormone therapy, and prepare me for sexual reassignment surgery.

But then, it all went wrong. I went to the Netherlands for treatment. It started off fine, but then, I had a bad reaction to the injection (this was 1976) to signal the mind to suppress testosterone production, and without inhibition to my testosterone production, any effects of estrogen shots would be short-lived. Then, the Depo-Provera that was standard procedure at that time made me violently and uncontrollably suicidal and miserable. Plus, I was gaining weight at a prodigious clip – a side-effect that the doctors had never seen before. My Mom and I came to the conclusion at the same time: God wanted me to remain in this male body disguise – at least for the immediately foreseeable future. One thing I knew – it's foolish to fight against God's will. So, I got reinstated at Stanford, put female role play on the back burner for awhile (I needed to visit Leah or Mom from time to time for a role-play "fix", but pretty much handled the stresses of college and law school as well as I did in high school. So I graduated law school and went on to work for a Sacramento law firm with relatively few problems. But, I knew it was too good to last indefinitely. It didn't.

But, I survived. I’m still here. And, as Nietzsche said, that which does not kill me makes me stronger. And, although I’ve had embarrassments and heartaches that I never thought I’d get over, I did. And, while I’ve never had the drive to compete with other guys to get the best financial opportunities as a lawyer, I like the way that has worked out too. I get used exclusively on research for paying clients and to prepare pro-bono cases, and I love both activities. Basically, I like helping people, and always have. But, being a woman in my head, I never knew how to keep my dignity with the ladies – until a few months ago, just by accident, doing what comes naturally. And, the benefits, for a changeling like me, have been just fantastic!

Already, I have become best friends with Yolanda and Patti, and so look forward to our special times together. Suddenly, life was good. And adding Helene to the equation had all the potential to make it great. Yes, as I started dancing with her – now it was to Spandau Ballet’s "True" – I knew that Helene would learn to love Jake, but as a friend, and then would eventually really love being truly close friends with Cassie. And, Cassie’s heart was beating inside of me. We could hardly wait!

….end of Part I ….

  

  

  

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