Chapter 3

I really loved Cindy's penis. I know, I mentioned that before, but it's so important, I wanted to say it again. Poor Cindy, as a woman, she just wanted it cut off and made into a vagina, and my attention to it was too hard for her to cope with. Before Cindy, I hadn't touched a penis in a long time. Part of my fascination was my growing awareness that I wanted one of my own, in other words, my interest was somewhat about my own gender. However, there was a lot going on about my sexual orientation, too, meaning, who I was attracted to. I had no qualms about licking a penis, whereas I could no longer force myself past my revulsion to the tastes and smell of a pussy. I get a kick out of women, especially strong ones, but only, I now know, as sisters and friends.

Cindy, like many of my ex's, was the brave one. She knew that her purpose in my life was fulfilled once I had admitted that I was a transman, and later had come to realize how much I craved cock. I had served to reassure her that she was still lovable. Now, we were tugging each other in different directions. She was the party to call it quits, but we were too shaky in the world to make it apart, so we got back together. Then she broke us up again, we teetered away ... then fell back toward one another. This pattern continued, but each break got longer and longer until I finally started dating another m2f (male to female transsexual) who was living in a different big city four hours away.

In order to get medical treatment for transsexualism, you must follow a long set of guidelines to ensure both that you know what you're doing, and that the doctors who treat you won't be held liable. Under the guidelines you must live for a certain amount of time in the goal gender and you must convince a therapist that you're for real, before you are prescribed the transforming hormones. While I was dating Cindy, I found a local lesbian therapist whom I believed would help me get the help I needed. Del promised she would write my letter of referral for testosterone, but she never seemed to get around to it. I was getting desperate - I was very seriously thinking about suicide because of the disconnect between my inner male self and the female body I was cloaked with. After months of begging and being put off, I finally called Del and asked her point blank when she was going to write my letter. Del admitted she was never going to, she didn't believe in transsexualism. I was crushed. Later I met some people who had at one time been friends with Del. They told me Del had rejected them when they began living openly as transsexuals, rather than as separatist man-hating lesbians like Del. I realized Del had imposed her own politics on me.

The m2f I was dating now, Penny, was seeing a gender specialist therapist in her own city. I couldn't find any psychologist, psychiatrist, social worker, or similar professional with gender training anywhere near my rural location. Del's treatment of me had been a cruel joke, and I was pretty leery of going to anyone who didn't know what they were doing. I made an appointment to see Penny's specialist, Dr. Stile. At the FIRST visit, Dr. Stile agreed to write my referral letter, and he instructed me to initiate the process with an endocrinologist (who turned out to have a six month waiting list, sigh). Thus began my several years long odyssey of trekking four hours each way every other week to meet with Dr. Stile. The guidelines required meeting with a therapist for the entire time of transition, which usually takes many years to complete. Bless Dr. Stile, and bless Penny for appearing in my life just in the nick of time to tell me about him.

The gist of my entire, extremely brief dating relationship with Penny was that our sexual orientations were incompatible, and all the problems I had had physically with Cindy repeated themselves in a telescoped fashion. Penny and I were destined to be short lived as a couple. However, Penny, like Joanne and Cindy and the support group, remained in my life as friends and became the building blocks of a social structure that had always been missing from my existence. To find other f2m's (female to male transsexuals, like myself), I went online and found a vast network of transfolk and information. I also rediscovered gay male chat.

Oh ho! I could be as male as I liked online, and no one pulled down my pants to check my gender. Free of dating commitments, I went on quite a fuck spree - all virtual, of course. I still wasn't brave enough to chance things with a real life gay man yet. During this waiting period before I first met with the endocrinologist (thus before testosterone) I started learning about the gay culture, how we speak to each other, how to signal interest, and how to flirt in a male world where hetereosexual clues don't work. I observed some portion of the gay population engaged in sexual behaviors that were very physical and superficial, and after some sampling I found I wasn't interested in their promiscuity. On the other hand, I found many guys who were looking for meaningful relationships including and going beyond sexual. It was these men I found myself drifting toward and holding long conversations with. I became good friends, but not virtual lovers, with a gay Iraqi Jewish man named Lenny who lived in the city where I used to live. I eventually discovered he was an f2m (we're everywhere!), and we became very, very close, and are good real time buddies to this day.

One of the gay biological men began to draw my sexual, personal, and intellectual interest more than any other. I found myself going back to the IRC channel where he was administrator over and over. Lee's story was fascinating: he was 35 years old and had never had sex with anyone because he had never been able to accept until recently that he was gay. He had moved over from England to work in the technology field. He was looking for a man. He was kind and sweet and gentle ... and he was definitely interested. Holding my heart in my hands, I told him I was a pre-transition, pre-hormone even, gay transman. I mean, I was still looking about 95% female at that point. He didn't block me or ban me from his channel, and he kept talking to me, so I asked him to call on the telephone. When I heard his English accent, I melted. Ohmygod.

I think it was a little hard for him to get past my female voice, but after speaking for a few moments, the bond we had made online shone through. Soon, we were yakking away almost every night, and for one or more hours. My phone bill was going through the roof.

"Hello," I answered one night.

"Hello. How are you tonight?" came that wonderful voice. I was certainly much better now that he had called, and I told him so. After chatting for a few minutes about inconsequential stuff. he said, "I have a business conference lined up in Washington, D.C. If it would be alright with you, I could fly an extra leg up to the city near you afterwards and stay over for the weekend," he ventured.

Alright? It was damned fine! Except ... Oh I was so scared I was peremptorily shaking. I was so vulnerable, so believing I'd never find anyone who could accept me. I loved him a little already. I couldn't not take the chance, come what may, but I was petrified.

The timing turned out to be pretty tricky. Lee would be flying in very late on the evening of the same day on which I had to drive 8 hours total round trip to see Dr. Stile. I would have to drive 4 hours to Dr. Stile's city, park on the outskirts, take a 45 minute subway trip in to his office, have an hour session, return to my car, and drive back. It was in the dead of winter, and I had to go over a mountain range on my way there and back. Once back I had to go past the exit for my small town (which lay 30 minutes north), and drive west instead for an hour to the airport. I was sure I could do it. Just to be sure, I called Cindy, and asked if I could stop at her place, which was near the exit to my town, and take a breather. "Sure," she said. "This guy sounds promising. I'll be glad to help out."

So I began the long day that would end with me coming face to face with Lee and my fears. It began great. I had finally gotten in to see the endocrinologist, and I had been on testosterone for four days - it made me feel very powerful and alive. The drive down to Dr. Stile's went fine, and there weren't any glitches on the trains or for my appointment. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before due to anticipation, but I didn't feel too tired. The first real sign of trouble appeared when I began driving back.