It has been nearly three years since I began transitioning and I have not honestly attempted to chronicle any portion of my transition. Perhaps this is a bit out of order, but I’d rather start with the more recent months of the end of 2008 as they are the most significant, painful, and wonderful months of my life.
This phase of my life started on exactly June 22, 2008 at, how appropriately, Baltimore Pride. I felt a bit out of place amongst so many gay people. An outsider. As the day wore on I started to loosen up and enjoy the horrid, soupy weather, crazy drag queens on the stage, and the amusing antics of the Westboro Baptist protesters (always good for a laugh). I met a few interesting people and bumped into a number of old acquaintances, but nothing could compare to the glimpse I caught of a raven-haired beauty sporting a little black tanktop and a milk chocolate brown skirt slipping through the crowds.
I spent the next two hours hunting through the throngs of people attempting to find her again and finally gave up. The event grounds weren’t exactly large, but I was frayed from the heat. Imagine my surprise when I found her at the table for Baltimore’s Gender Identity Group. I was so distracted and sheepish that I put my email on the FTM’s mailing list. Thankfully my friend, an FTM, made for a valid enough reason to avoid any further embarrassment. I eyed up this gorgeous woman out of the corner of my eye, this distracted, bored, and somewhat drunk beauty. My nerve failed me and I couldn’t bring myself to introduce myself to her but I knew I’d likely have another chance at the support group.
Yes, I’m admitting that 90% of my motivation for going to this support group was to meet a girl.
A month would pass before I had my chance. I tarted myself up, stuffed every bit of extra cash I had into my purse and sauntered off to the meeting with the intention of getting very drunk at least. The meeting passed without incident and as our group traveled over to the Mt. Vernon Stable for our post-meeting dinner I followed by the target of my affection like a lost puppy. We chatted a bit and I had a chance to get a glimpse of how brilliant and vibrant she is. Like a bimbo, I started blabbing about how I had a wad of cash and planned on getting trashed. I’m sure I sounded like some Girls Gone Wild reject, but I didn’t care. I was incredibly excited. I mentioned offhand, as we passed by Club Hippo, that I had never been dancing. She urged me to try the place out and I made my move. And by “made my move” I mean I blathered and squealed about how we should go.
For reference, my transportation and recent ex was with me. He knew I was incredibly attracted to this girl and didn’t seem to have much of a problem with the situation (or so I assumed, considering he was fucking a friend of mine). In one night, I had my first drink at a gay bar, I had my first encounter with a girl that I actually asked out instead of the other way around, and I had my first incredibly enticing rendezvous on the dance floor. That memory still stands out in my mind…the two of us pressed against each other, her fingers tangled in my hair and my arms wrapped across her body. Sweating, gyrating, gasping. Up until that point it was probably the most erotic moment of my entire life.
We ended up back at her place…plus one third wheel. My ex, being dense or abusive, didn’t exactly…leave. We sat about, drank a little whiskey, wandered off to a diner for a breakfast, and found ourselves in her bed. Again, with a third wheel. I napped fitfully, fretting about how I’d even express my interest with my ex snoring alongside me. Needless to say it was an awkward situation. Yet, when I woke up and glanced over, biting my lip, I saw her smiling back at me. Those stormy slate eyes and that perfect smile. The fear melted and I reached over to touch that exquisite face. That was the moment I knew I had found someone special. While I might be a bit too pragmatic to say it was ‘love at first sight’, I knew I was ensorceled by her charm. Events became considerably more awkward when my ex woke up, but he eventually made his way off to work and left us alone.
I’ll not detail the events of that day, but it was beyond words.
And so our life began together in the strangest of ways. A chance meeting, a heady mix of alcohol and sex, and an awkward situation with an old boyfriend.
Here we are, nearly six months later. In those months I lost my job, moved out of Sykesville (much to my joy), and moved in with this girl. We have argued, we’ve cried (A LOT…estrogen does that), we’ve laughed hysterically. We’ve drank, we’ve fucked, we’ve cuddled. We’ve danced, we’ve worried, we’ve struggled. I’ve questioned everything about myself from my presentation to my identity, and how I’m going to ever make it through life. Every time I can’t take anymore and I’m balled up in a fetal position and barely able to breathe, she’s there with her arms around me and whispering sweet words. I couldn’t have made it this far or blossomed as much as I have if it weren’t for her.
This posting is for you Jennifer. You’ve reminded me that life is worth living, not just surviving. You’ve shown me a depth of compassion and patience that still boggles my mind. You’ve carried yourself with grace and gentle strength that has inspired more out of me than I ever thought possible. Thank you.
I love you Jennifer. Here’s to another six months, hopefully a bit less crazy.