TRANSMEN ARTICLE FOR UNZIPPED MAGAZINE

by Patrick Califia-Rice

Once every two weeks, I get out a bottle of testosterone, a syringe, and two needles. I clean the top of the bottle with rubbing alcohol and use the larger of the two needles to draw out my oily dose of the hormone. Then I switch to the smaller needle. My partner uses another alcohol pad to clean off the upper outer quadrant of my butt, and throws that needle deep into the muscle. The whole process takes less than ten minutes, but it took me four and a half decades to get here. A year's worth of effects seen dramatic to me, but I don't always pass as male in public. Every time I shave, however, there's a little more hair on my face. Someday I'll be able to grow a beard like a proper bear. My shoulders are bigger, my butt is more narrow and flat, and I have bigger muscles in my arms and legs. The savings account that will pay for chest surgery grows too slowly, but eventually I'll have $7,000 to make my shirts fit right. The emotional and psychological changes created by testosterone are more subtle. Is my internal landscape shifting because I am finally doing something about my gender dysphoria, or is it T? My libido is outrageous. I have always supported decriminalization of prostitution and public sex, but now my understanding of these things is, shall we say, somewhat more visceral? I can jack off twice a day and still want a quick blowjob after lunch. My appreciation for hard-core porn and other eye candy has intensified. When somebody fuckable crosses my line of sight, they appear in sharp focus and bright colors, while everything else recedes into a dim background. I find it more difficult to cry. I don't have any problems with "'roid rage;" so far, my temper seems to have cooled quite a bit. But the potential for physical confrontation does not spook me as much as it used to. Gay/bisexual female-to-male transsexuals (FTMs) are just starting to become more visible. This can be pretty jarring for gay men who base their common identity on having a dick. (While a few FTMs have genital surgery, most do not because it is so expensive, and the medical technology leaves a lot to be desired.) Transgendered queer men have enjoyed the most acceptance from groups that have questioned stereotypical body image or expanded their sexual expression beyond cock sucking and ass fucking with a biophallus. I'm talking, of course, about bears, the leather or S/M community, and fisters. I feel blessed by the queer biomen are willing to explore sex with me. My good fortune is probably due to the fact that an experienced top is hard to find, and many of the trips I like to run (bondage, dirty talk, tit torture, shaving, flagellation, dildo play and handballing) are not dick-dependent. I tend to score better with guys who have done a lot of tricking. A genetic man with a rich history of man-to-man sex is less likely to be threatened by an encounter with somebody who was not born male. Even when I have facial hair and a flat chest, there will be many xy gay men who will not want to accord me the courtesy of male pronouns. There's a lot of fear and loathing of female anatomy among Kinsey 6 fags. This kind of separatism hurts my feelings, but it is a little funny that the elegant architecture of the flesh between my legs has this much power to spook big bad daddies, even if I keep my 501s firmly buttoned. Even if I never get to suck cock at a sex club or sink into another willing furry butt, this gender transition would still be necessary. It is about my relationship to myself, which has to take priority over others' perceptions or opinions. It's hard to explain what gender dysphoria feels like to somebody who has never experienced it. Most of us are too busy trying to fit into those "masculine" or "feminine," male/female categories to step back and ask why this system is so harsh and rigid. Gender dysphoria feels like something that was hard-wired, something I was born with. It appeared long before I heard about transsexuality, homosexuality, or any sort of adult sexuality. I never understood why my parents kept referring to me as a girl, and I frequently told them that I was going be a man when I grew up. After being punished repeatedly for this, I learned to keep my mouth shut. I spent a lot of years trying to make myself feel better by being a different kind of woman. But when I hit menopause and my doctor told me I should start taking estrogen, I couldn't do it. I could not deliberately put female hormones into my body. I had run out of options. I had to try T, had to see if making the male part of me more visible would ease the adversarial relationship I had with my biology. Luckily, I live with someone who understands this struggle all too well. My lover and domestic partner is another FTM. He has been on hormones for several years and had chest surgery a while back. Matt has done a lot of public speaking about being a gay transman, and runs an Internet mailing list for trannyfags and their friends. He is determined to fulfill his own notion of what it means to be a man, and refuses to conform to other people's standards. We are raising a son who is Matt's biological child, conceived during a time in his life when he was not taking T. We've encountered hostility about being parents, partly because our culture insists that children be indoctrinated into conventional gender expression and heterosexuality. Our son will probably grow up to be a butch straight guy, but he will know that he has choices. Some of Matt's friends who had accepted him as male had an especially hard time with validating that identity when he was pregnant. Matt's caustic reply to this was, "Oh, right, like you never told anyone you wanted to have his babies." Still, pregnancy was a pretty difficult experience for him, a major sacrifice he was willing to make because he wanted to be a parent so badly. Before I got involved with Matt, I assumed I would never raise a child, so this experience is a constant revelation to me, proof that life can always surprise me. The bond that I feel with our son is stronger than any other love I've experienced. In some ways, my life is very domestic. I live with someone I love. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. We don't get out much because we are in baby world. But because we are transgendered men, we're a scandal. That is what the fight for sexual freedom is all about: The right to be left alone to enjoy the pleasures of an ordinary life.

FIFTEEN REASONS FOR REJECTING MY DICK (AND MY RESPONSES)

1. It's artificial. This from somebody who can't get it up without a bottle of poppers and a tape in the VCR. Sure, you're Organic Boy himself.

2. It takes too long to put it on. You go douche, I'll fool with the Velcro. We'll see who wins that race.

3. It's too hard. 'Cause a Viagra hard-on is so pliable and lifelike. Uh huh. Sorry, I'll go get that two-week-old zucchini out of the fridge. That oughta be floppy enough for ya.

4. It's too small. Look in the drawer, stupid. I have things in there that will reach your prostate even if it's hiding in Hawaii.

5. It's too big. Actually, no one has ever said this.

6. You won't be able to feel it. No, it'll only give me goosebumps from my toes to my tonsils. If you can believe that your favorite porn star really did shoot for eight straight minutes in his latest video, honey, trust me. There won't be any credibility problem when I get off.

7. It isn't real. Yeah, sex is all about what's "real." Because that guy on the cover of your bear magazine really is a truck driver, and all the men who pose in Playgirl are tops. And when you close your eyes, you are thinking only of the very special person you are with and what he is doing in the moment to pour all his love into your tender flesh.

8. You can't cum inside of me. OK, you win. Here's cab fare and my therapist's phone number. See you on the cover of POZ.

9. Where's the romance? It's extremely unlikely I would fall in love with anybody who couldn't take eight inches. Consider this your audition for True Love.

10. I have a latex allergy. Can you say, "Avanti"? Or "silicone"? Or "fingers"?

11. What will the other boys think? How are the other boys going to find out? I don't plan to take any ads out in the local gay rag.

12. It just doesn't turn me on. Which is why your dick is pointing at your eyebrows, hmm? Precum never lies, Jack. You had to elbow six other people out of the way to talk to me, you knew perfectly well I was a tranny, and I bet you last bought somebody else a drink in 1986. We swapped so much spit on the way to my house that I could tell you your blood type. Whatever!

13. I'm afraid it will hurt. Foreplay R Us. I own stock in Liquid Silk, Sex Grease, and Probe. If you want it to hurt, you're going to have to ask very very nicely, and make it worth my while.

14. Can we just fist fuck? Will you marry me?

15. I don't like to get fucked. I'd rather fuck you instead. I'm a top, but I'm not stupid.