I MET JEAN ON a weekend vacation to
Hamilton Island, where I was staying with a
friend who worked there. Jean worked with Tracey
and stayed also in the quaintly named 'dongers'
which were really one room shacks. Jean and I
hit it off immediately, and with her snappy and
slightly bitter humour and neat muscly body I
was instantly intrigued.
After that weekend I returned home, not
suspecting that Jean and Tracey would decide to
leave the island, after being fired for scaring
the locals (kissing in the only nightclub I
think it was), and turn up on my doorstep.
Jean and I established a relationship in true
lesbian style after about a week or less, and we
continued together like all good dykes, spraying
graffiti at nights; 'Dead men don't rape' and
'All women are potential lesbians' and so on. We
went out to gay bars and hassled the het couples
who dared show up there, and were involved with
the new Lesbian and Gay Pride Festival.
We were together about a year when she told
me out of the blue that she wanted to be a man.
I was shocked; I felt betrayed (didn't I know
her at all?), and incredulous that anyone could
desire to join the enemy. The only transsexual
I'd met before had been a M2F, whom I'd had
mixed feelings about. I didn't even know women
could change their gender too.
I reacted badly of course. I made it clear
that as a dyed-in-the-wool lesbian I couldn't
possibly continue to have a sexual relationship
with a man, and that I didn't approve at all of
my girlfriend choosing to leave the flock. (It
was all about me of course; I didn't stop to
wonder how difficult it might have been to make
such a statement to your separatist
girlfriend).
Nevertheless, we moved in together shortly
afterwards, though not as lovers. I managed to
ignore our conversation and continue on as if
nothing had changed. Jean didn't mention it
again, and I hoped that the issue had gone away,
so I wouldn't have to think about it again.
But I did; Jean started to transition several
years later after finding a sympathetic
psychiatrist in our hick city, and told me after
she'd started on the hormones. I still couldn't
fathom it, although I did start to read some
books by FTMs that helped describe something of
the experience of gender dysphoria to me.
I remembered that as a child, I'd dressed up
in my mothers' bra and stuffed it with oranges
in anticipation of developing my own breasts. It
occurred to me to wonder what it would be like
to have that desire and be in a body that didn't
correspond. From years of asking my friends
about their experiences of growing up I've
concluded that I was one of the few children who
didn't experience some sort of mild gender
dysphoria, whether actually believing they were
the opposite gender or merely dressing in the
opposite genders' clothing.
I don't really think it's important any more
that I don't really get the experience of
transitioning gender. Jack and I remained
friends throughout this and other difficult
times, and I believe that's all that matters
after all. Jack's transition helped me to look
at a few of my own beliefs about gender and
sexuality (he remained queer after
transitioning), and impacted on my own sexual
identity also which began to become more
fluid.
Just as I don't have any explanation for my
sexual identity, it's possible that there are
many reasons or none for gender transitioning.
Gender is such an essential handle for the world
to label and box people into, yet it has become
a prison for most people and not just
tranys.
Fear of being alone; of being different kept
me in a rigid box that started to stifle me
also. Gender identities and labels are used as
excuses to abuse groups of people with prejudice
and no understanding of who each person is on
their own.
Jack taught me that labels peel off in soapy
water, and that we must walk away from our
labels every so often to get a different
perspective.
I began to see what a brave step it was to
walk away from our rigid gender roles-probably
about the most challenging thing an individual
person can do in our society. Jack didn't feel
he had a choice and that he would die if he
didn't transition to a body that fitted his
identity more closely, yet he could have stayed
in his birth body and remained miserable and
false to himself forever.
We all have the right to our integrity and to
define what it is to be true to ourself. We are
lucky enough to have a society where it is
possible to transform one's body to match one's
mind (and no, I don't mean socially supported
and sanctified transformations such as body
building or plastic surgery).
I worried of course that Jack might change
his mind a few years in, but so far he hasn't.
Indeed, he has become a much happier person,
moving along in his chosen career, and in a
happy and stable relationship. His family all
know and are supportive, particularly his
mother.
The person I first met as Jean doesn't exist
anymore; there is hardly a trace of the bitter,
sometimes shy and often sad girl I fell in love
with. But I gained a replacement friend instead,
who opened my eyes to many things I would never
have learnt about otherwise. I learnt to discard
some of my own labels also, and have become much
more content with my life as a result.
