I'm sitting on the plane, halfway over the Pacific. Fourteen hours from Hong Kong to San Francisco is a long time to sit, and I can hardly keep still. I'm very excited about my arrival in SF--things have worked out perfectly and I am going to visit a friend who I have not been able to see in years. Our careers literally led us in different directions, but I had known him for a very intense year in Hong Kong, and in that time we became extremely close. My friend, who I'll call John, is the first person outside of my immediate family who I felt that I could tell about my TG status. While he was in HK I could not get up the courage to do so--had I been wrong it could have cost me my job, but now I have gained more confidence in myself and in our friendship and have decided that I will talk to him fully and frankly during my stopover.
Perhaps I should have been more confident from the beginning. What were practically John's first words to me confirmed the rumors that had been flying around work before his arrival that he was gay. I noticed that he often took this approach--when meeting someone for the first time, he would not come out and say, "I'm John, and I'm gay", but early in the conversation he would bring up his partner's name, an obviously masculine name, or make some other reference that clarified the situation. I admired and envied his air of self-confidence. At our first meeting I found myself talking to John about my brother-in-law who had recently passed away of AIDS and the difficulties my wife's family were having with all the issues involved. We regularly had the most heart-felt discussions and shared intimate details of our lives. John's sexuality was never a problem for me, and we encouraged each other to talk about relationships and difficulties in each other's lives, and we offered support to each other. John's partner had not come to Hong Kong (the government does not allow gay couples the same entry rights that married straight couples have) and he felt quite lonely in HK. Although my family was in the colony, the difficulties I'd been having with my wife had made me feel quite lonely in my marriage. I talked to John about this, but never told him the root of my sorrow. In some ways, although I admired the ease with which John was "out" in the world, I feared that if I did tell him, he might let my secret out, perhaps accidentally, perhaps purposefully.
The closest I'd come to telling him was over dinner one night at a hamburger joint. I'd tried to sound out his reaction to transgendered issues by asking him how he felt about drag. He told me, "I know it is supposed to be empowering, but I'm just not into it at all--it seems kind of silly to me. I'm gay because I'm attracted to men, not women. Why should I want to dress as a woman, or be attracted to men who dress as women? And what is this whole thing about breasts, anyway? Were all you heterosexuals weaned too early?"
Well, I was, but that's a different story.
We talked about drag a bit more, and he told me that he thought that it started as a way for homosexuals to be together without having to face the disapproval of society. John had come of age in New York in the late seventies, and found it a wonderful time of discovery and freedom. I said, "That must have been fantastic to finally understand what you were, and for you to have an accepting atmosphere to do what you felt you must." There, not a bad set-up at all.
"Yeah, but mostly it was just great fun!" he answered.
I was right on the edge of telling him about myself, but our waiter walked by, and John asked for a cappuccino. "I'm sorry sir, we don't have cappuccino."
"Alright, then, I'll have an espresso."
"Sorry, sir, no espresso either."
"No cappuccino and no espresso! What kind of an Italian restaurant is this?" John commented with mock indignation.
"Sorry, sir, it's an American restaurant." flustered the waiter, and John and I dissolved into hysterical laughter. The moment passed. Not long after, John left for a position in America.
On the plane, I marvel that things have gone so smoothly. Just a few days before the trip I remembered that John lived in SF. I e-mailed him only to find out that he was returning from a job interview on the East Coast and would be in the same airport less than an hour after I would arrive. In fact, the whole itinerary for my trip had suddenly coalesced perfectly, when just days before it had looked like disaster. Some extraordinary planetary alignment had apparently occurred, and not only would I see John, but I would also be able to meet friends from the TGF chat room for the first time. I would visit Shelly, Lexi, and Janel in Pennsylvania at their most optimum time; I was going to be working within shouting distance of Linda and Danielle in Massachusetts; and most incredible of all, Sally was flying in from Europe and the difficulties we'd had trying to get together suddenly disappeared at the last minute. I'll even get to attend my first support group meeting! I'm looking forward to a minimum of 4 1/2 days en femme, and perhaps more. There's an additional possibility that I might be able to meet another TGF friend I'll call Mary in Salt Lake City, but she has been unable to make a firm commitment due to work.
I'd had no difficulty packing other than deciding what to take--I'd been afraid that my wife would display the odd curiosity that sometimes comes over her with regard to my TG activities. She asks me what I've done on a day that she knows I dressed, but she doesn't want to hear that I've dressed, she wants to hear that I haven't. We'd gone a few rounds over this trip already. I'd asked if I could borrow two pieces of costume jewelry--gold necklaces that I'd given her a year ago and which she had seldom worn, preferring another gold necklace that I had given her earlier. I also asked if I could borrow a perfume she seldom used. She got very quiet and red in the face, and I could see that I had upset her, even though I had asked in the gentlest way I knew. I withdrew the request immediately and apologized, but she replied tearfully, "Just go ahead and take them, I'll never wear them again!" Afterward she said that it made her feel like I had originally gotten them for myself, and I understood that she felt that my commitment to her was no longer on the firm ground she had thought.
Fortunately she had to go out for the evening one night before I left, and I packed my femme things then, not wanting to upset her further. Hoping to shop in the US, I packed lightly: my black t-shirt dress for a casual evening, perhaps for the support group; my turquoise dress for daywear; my new suit and blouse if I get up the nerve to fly en femme as I am considering; my new silk dress which has to be packed very carefully to avoid wrinkling. And accessories--white pumps for the suit, black flats for day, black heels for evening, a green scarf that I use as a belt with the black dress; a malachite necklace and matching earrings that look nice with the scarf; and my new handbag. Oh, yes, and another black handbag with rhinestones for evening. Should I pack my rhinestone necklace and earrings? Why not! My nightgown and lingerie, and my breast-forms, also. I've two pair, but one pair is a bit too big--it's not that they make me look like Dolly Parton, but they emphasize the thickness of my chest. They look incredibly natural on their own, in fact they're deservedly called Nearly Me, but they don't work with the ensemble and I determined to leave them. I took my second, smaller pair of forms. These are also silicone, but they are marketed as breast enhancers and cost about one-fifth the price of my other forms. And then of course I would need my cosmetics, so I grabbed the whole bag. There is a lot of stuff in there, and I hoped to learn how to use it to better effect this trip. A coat? I considered taking an androgynous coat with a faux fur collar, but the darn thing wouldn't fit in the suitcase, so I settled for my grey herringbone that falls past the knees. It is a good femme length, but it is a man's coat, and I hope it will be okay. Anyway, borrowing my wife's red cape was definitely out of the question! Once I'd packed this bare minimum I looked at the suitcase and laughed. Now I understand why my mother was always the last one ready on every trip we ever took! With my femme clothes and the presents that I'm bringing there was scarcely any room for my drab clothes, but I managed to cram them in also. Consequentially, every airport run was also a major upper body workout that would have made Charles Atlas proud.
"Cal-i-for-nia, here I come!" The old song runs repeatedly through my head as we approach the San Francisco airport. We've caught a good tailwind and are over an hour early. I make it through customs with no problems at all in spite of my anxieties about being asked to open my luggage and displaying my plethora of women's wear. The vision I have of my breast-forms falling at the feet of the customs officer doesn't come to pass, so I don't get to find out if my carefully prepared explanation, "Oh, officer, those are just, um, shoulder pads..." would work. There is a massive hold-up at immigration, but eventually I get through. I'm still early and have a chance to confirm my motel and rental car reservations in Utah and in Pennsylvania. There's still plenty of time left before John's scheduled arrival, but I go over to his baggage carousel and plan to wait for him there. Somehow, John's plane has caught a tailwind also, although how that is possible for two planes flying in opposite directions I don't quite understand; and he is there, almost an hour early himself, and looking no different than when he left Hong Kong.
We greet each other with enthusiasm and big hugs, and soon we are taxing to his apartment which is only ten minutes away from the airport. We discuss what to do in the three hours we have together--mine is only a layover--and I hope that we have some time alone to talk. He invites me up to his apartment and chats about his interview. I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do this, but I am closer to John than anyone else, and not only do I want to tell him, but I feel badly for not being as open and honest with him in the past as he has been with me. John's gotten up, and he's ready to go for a brunch somewhere, and the opportunity is about to pass. I can't see myself telling him while he's driving--I value my life too much for that--and I can't see myself telling him in public at the restaurant. We've already decided that we won't have time enough to come back to his apartment, and that I should take my bags with me. It is now or never.
"John, hang on a second, please," I say in a tentative voice. "do you have a few minutes to talk about something?"
"Sure," he says, noting the abrupt change in my manner. "What's up?"
All the carefully planned words I'd thought of for so long suddenly abandon me. It's happened this way when I told my brother and when I told my wife before we were engaged. Coming out to people is so terribly hard, and it should be. We take our relationships with others in our hands when we tell, and we offer them our trust and our love, and place ourselves in a position of dependency to them. Through overcoming our fears, we offer a great gift of love. For some of us that offer is a tool that can be used to destroy us, and in offering this two edged sword we say "I trust you. I honor you by sharing this with you. I want you in my life." And in that instant the truth of a relationship burns like a white-hot fire and makes itself known.
"John, I know that you value being out in the gay community, but I'm going to ask you if you will keep a confidence. I want to tell you about myself, but if what I tell you ever gets out, I will lose my position and probably never get another in the same field."
"Sure, I won't tell. Don't worry!" he says, his voice full of concern now.
"John, I'm...ummm..." This is so hard! "I'm transgendered."
John doesn't hesitate a moment. "COOL!" he says, and the relief I feel is overwhelming. "Oh, I mean, well, I guess that's not cool for you, maybe. But, you know what I mean, cool! Thanks for telling me!" I'm so grateful for his acceptance, and I want to build on it.
"Have you ever known anyone else who was transgendered?" I ask.
"Oh, yeah, when I was back East (and he means the East Coast, not HK) I knew someone who did the whole thing, sex change and all. Do you want to do that, or are you more of a transvestite?"
And so we talk. I'm very interested to hear about his TS friend, and he's starting to understand a lot of what I told him back in HK--the source of the marital problems, my jokes that weren't jokes, and we've reached a new dimension in our friendship. I show him a couple of pictures and he exclaims, "Beautiful! " Now he's definitely got my heart! "Hey, I know where we should go eat! I'll take you to the Castro!"
On the way to brunch, John stops on a hilltop with an incredible view of the city. We get out and look, and I'm practically giddy. "It must be a great relief to tell someone, isn't it?" John says.
"Oh, yes, it's fantastic, and especially so because it was you! I'm so grateful for your acceptance!" Lying in the street near the corner I notice a black patent leather pump. "Hey, I've always needed a pair of patent leather heels!" I exclaim.
"You want it?" John asks, but I assure him I was only kidding. Now, if it's mate were there and they were size 11, that might be a different matter.
We hit a terrific little restaurant, and plastered all over the place are ads for a drag show that is going on tonight! Unfortunately I'll be off to Salt Lake City in a few hours, but John invites me back. "Come and stay a while. You'll love this place!" I can see that is true. I'm surprised that the Castro area is as small as it is, but we walk around for just a few moments after lunch and without really trying I find some of JoAnne Roberts' books. We talk about how open SF is--John's partner is covered by John's health insurance, and his colleagues are all fully accepting. We talk about the difference in acceptance between TGs and gays. I believe that it is harder to be TG than gay these days--for many people TG behavior, especially crossdressing, is still seen as fetishistic and abhorrent. John agrees, but assures me that SF is a very accepting place. I ask him if he can get me a job there, and we discuss that possibility happily.
It is time to get back to the airport, and so we drive back, stopping at the Pacific Ocean for a minute. The conversation takes a more serious turn, as we talk about my hopes and where I want to go with this. I am committed to my marriage, and I love my wife and children. I feel responsible for my children, and although some would argue that I am not a true transsexual because I am not transitioning, nor do I expect to do so, I do believe myself to be transsexual; ever since I was a little boy I wanted to be a little girl. It seems to me a very maternal urge to be willing to sacrifice my desire to transition to protect my family and my children's happiness, and my wife has made it plain that she will leave if I take any steps toward transition.
I can't even say honestly that I wish I'd never married. My children are the delight of my life, and had I not married but transitioned instead I would never have had them. But every day I feel pain that my body is at odds with my feelings. I don't quite feel like a woman in a man's body--I grew up in this body, and even though I wish to be a woman, I cannot deny that my outwardly male appearance has shaped my experiences in defining ways that can never be forgotten. I compare it to someone growing up with a large strawberry birth-mark on their face--even if the mark is removed, the experiences and feelings they lived through with it will always be a part of their psyche. Instead of feeling like a woman in a man's body, I feel like a man who should have been a woman.
I explain all this to John as we walk along the beach. The fog has come in, and the beach is littered with broken dried sand dollars. The grey rollers fall on the sand with a sense of fatigue, and as I touch the water I reflect on the fact that only hours ago I was on the other side of this vast and indifferent ocean. The skies and the sea have affected my mood, and as we later embrace at the airport and express our hopes to see one another again soon, I am filled with sadness. It is a sadness that we have to part so soon, sadness that trust is so difficult for me to find, sadness that I live so much of my life in fear, sadness that I bring such pain and fear to my wife, and sadness that I may not be able to hold my family together in spite of my efforts and sacrifice.
I feel myself to be at the cusp of my life. Behind me, my family waits and worries. Ahead, my friends anticipate my arrival eagerly. And I am awash with emotion, torn between conflicting and contradictory desires, and retaining only the slightest control of my own destiny.
To Part IV: Lasers 'n' Mormons
To Part V: Boston Rendezvous
