WHEN I migrated to New Zealand, I
identified as a butch lesbian. For all my life I
had been butch, so butch that more times than
not I was taken for male.
Many of my friends called me transgendered,
given that I presented in such a masculine
fashion. This label I simply chuckled off and
would tell them that I was very happy being a
simple butch lesbian. Yet, I loved every time I
was taken for male. I loved the horrified faces
of women when I entered the women's toilets and
the expressions of clerks after they called me
"sir" and then heard my female voice. I even
thrived on the looks and stares from people as I
walked through society as they pondered what
gender I might be.
For years and years I studied and watched the
FtM world wishing I had the courage to
transition. In my own privacy I would paint
beards and moustaches on my face and flatten my
chest with bindings. I even went so far as to
purchase 'packies' which I wore only in private
or on 'special' lesbian occasions. I practiced
trying to keep my voice at a very low octave. I
had convinced myself that being the gender
blunder I presented was enough for me and the
'fetish' I had with masculinity was just that,
an odd little fetish.
Then I met my current partner. Life began to
change the minute I laid eyes on her. After
about a month of being in her company, she
completely floored me when she asked in such an
innocent and serious manner, "So, what are you
going to do about your transition?" I was
stunned. I hadn't even spoken to her about my
gender, my Butch-ness, my hidden desire to
masculinize with hormones and have chest surgery
or anything of that nature. I suddenly became,
for the very first time, keenly aware of my
obvious masculinity in my obvious female body
and I was embarrassed. Her ability to see into
my soul was frightening. In my blown away state
I could only stare at her and ask very humbly,
"What do you mean?" The conversation, which
ensued, gave me the most liberating moments of
my life.
Two weeks later I sat in a doctor's office
explaining to her what I desired; to transition
into masculinity. My partner sat there next to
me, her head held high and her smile bright and
proud. Another first happened to me that day. I
stepped out of my butch shell and became the
person I always knew I was; masculine. I was a
'guy' and soon would physically resemble that!
Cloud nine was mine!
The initial doctor's visit was great! This GP
was as open minded as they come. After I
explained to her that I desired to transition,
she very calmly asked me "You are going from
female to male, right?" After grasping to
maintain my composure and not bust into roaring
laughter, I said yes, that's my desire. She
explained that she had never worked through this
particular type of transition, that most of her
patients were MtFs. But she wasn't going to let
my case go without her in-depth involvement and
she has been true to her word ever since.
My partner has a son (at the time seven years
old) who accompanied us to my initial doctor's
visit. We explained to him that I was going to
get help to become more like a guy because my
outside body didn't match my insides. This
little champ grinned and looked at me square in
the eyes and said, "Linc, if you're going to be
a guy, then you have to learn to walk like one."
And off he strutted up the sidewalk walking like
a miniature version of the hulk. Proudly he
finished his strut and turned to me and said,
"Like that Linc!" I wish there are words for how
I felt that minute.
The next big moment came when I was to start
on injectable testosterone. I picked up my
prescription and took my partner to my GP's
office so she could learn how to administer the
injections. My doctor instructed me to reveal my
buttocks and lean on a gurney. I did. Both my
doctor and my partner moved behind me. I heard
the package rip open and then the next thing I
heard was the giggling of two females. Unsure if
I even wanted to know why, I slowly turned and
saw them both in well-restrained giggles
starring at this enormous horse sized needle.
Yes, my head swam for a moment at the sight of
that needle, but the thought of two females
standing at my bare buttocks with a 'poker'
…GIGGLING… was enough to snap me back
to what was about to happen.
With a deep breath, eyes closed and a death
grip on that gurney, I received my first
injection while listening to the two of them
converse over my exposed bottom. Somehow I knew
I was on the right track.
My work place has been a blessing for me. I
have been accepted as exactly who I am without
confrontation. I first expressed my transition
to the only openly queer man on staff. I made
this choice because I felt this gentleman would
not only accept and understand my transition,
but he could advise me on what to expect from
our work place. After I told him of my journey,
his grin almost filled the tiny office we sat
in. He placed his hand over mine and said so
softly and so genuinely, "Darling, I wish we
could just trade bits." His support and
acceptance were overwhelming.
The next person I told was my closest work
mate, a Maori woman who I had only known for
three months. She put her arms around my neck
and said, "Good on you, now, what do we call
you?"
Third to know was my immediate manager.
Nervous isn't even the word I would use to
describe how I felt walking into her office. I
began by bringing to her attention the fact that
my voice had been cracking for the past few
weeks. She smiled and said she had noticed I had
had a cold lately. I said, "Well… it's not
really a cold, it's more like puberty." And off
I rambled about my transition. During my entire
monologue she did only one thing, she starred at
my body moving her head from top to bottom
without any attempt to be discreet. When I had
finished, she sat down and said nothing for a
few minutes. My head raced with the options I
had should she say I had to leave employment
there. Her next words were, "I don't understand
what you're doing Janet, I mean Linc, but if
it's what you want then more power to you. I do
have one question though, what are you going to
do about the toilets?" In a rush of relief I
laughed and said, "I believe that will work
itself out." Satisfied, she turned her attention
to the business at hand and the day went on as
usual. Since then she has explored my progress
with finesse and respect through questions and
acceptance. I believe it's a comfortable
position one has with their boss when the
question, "Linc, now that you're a man, can you
still multi-task?" is asked with confidence and
seriousness!
The final conversation I had to out myself at
work was with a young man who joined me for
morning tea every day. When I told him, he got
this salacious grin on his face and he moved
very close to me. He leaned in and said, "I'm
bi-sexual. I've wanted to tell someone here for
so long. What a relief. And by the way, Linc,
you're really the best of both worlds now." Our
relationship from there became like two old
friends meeting for tea and discussing life.
Hardly a day went by that he and I didn't have a
'cuppa' and share a ten-minute 'life is…'
blurb.
It's been a year now and I thoroughly enjoy
my job and the company I work for. There are no
hesitations from anyone to address me with
masculine pronouns and use my acquired name.
Work mates feel free to discuss and ask
questions about my transition, they make genuine
comments about my new facial hair and my new
voice. They accept my partner and her child as
part of my life and often call me "the family
man". I've become friends with one of the
Pacific Islander men. He has been the most
forthright with questions concerning my
transition and often uses the phrase, "Now that
you're one of us…" This makes me feel great
on one hand, but not as great on the other as I
don't identify as a man. But through his
hetero-normative filters, he has come to accept
me as masculine and for that I love him
dearly.
One of the most traumatic adjustments I've
had to make is using the men's toilet. I never
used the men's toilet while I lived as a butch
lesbian so the whole concept of urinating next
to a standing man in public was a bit… odd.
At first I would only go to the toilet at work
when I knew it was empty and should a man enter
while I was in the stall, I would sit and wait
for him to leave before I emerged. This worked
for a while, but the inevitable 'meeting' soon
took place. One of the senior managers came in
while I was preparing to leave. Caught in the
middle of washing my hands with no fast escape I
responded to his greeting with the same grunt he
offered to me and kept my eyes focused on my
hands. He proceeded to the urinal and with no
care in the world began to strike up a
conversation with me. My heart raced and my eyes
darted from the sink to the walls to the
ceiling. By now I was finished washing my hands
and desperate to leave the toilet but this
manager had no intention of ending our
conversation. On and on he droned and I couldn't
help but think he had the bladder of a whale. By
now I was sweating profusely and coming up short
on new places to focus my eyes. Finally he was
finished and flipped around to face me as he
tucked and zipped. Relief! We walked out of the
toilet together and grunted as we went our
respective ways. In a weird sort of way I felt I
had experienced my coming-of-age in my new
masculinity.
From that day on I was OK with using the
men's toilet while others were in there until,
one day the CEO raced ahead of me and bolted in
the toilet door. I was horrified! I can't pee
with the CEO I thought. I turned on my heels and
waited for him to leave the toilet. I avoided
using the toilet with the CEO for quite a long
time. Then the fateful day came. Again, caught
at the washbasin, the CEO entered. I wanted to
die. And again, the customary grunt greeting,
the customary conversation and the customary
nerves. Yet, just like the previous encounter,
it ended with a walk to the door together and a
grunt goodbye. Now, I can pee with the best of
them!
Recently I was asked to join a co-ed netball
team. When the young lady asked me to join, she
concluded that I was actually the best choice
for a substitute player as I could fill both
roles. If they were short a male player I could
take his place, and should they be short a
female player I could 'bra up' and take her
place! I can't explain the feeling of acceptance
this brought to my heart. Of course she knew
that I would never 'change sides' and she was
being totally facetious, but the ability for my
acquaintances to find humour and laugh with me
during this whole transition is overwhelming. I
am a very lucky guy to say the least.
Since I have masculinised life has been quite
different. I am treated differently in most
every aspect of life. There is no question who
gets the bill at a restaurant, females walking
on the street won't make eye contact with me any
more and men seem to think I'm their long lost
mate. The first visit to the local take-away
shop ended in learning the nutshell version of
the owner's family history. My one major problem
is my legal identification documents. Currently
they still are in my old name and gender and
bear my old butch photos. When I write a cheque
it's like presenting foreign currency as the
name is female but a 'male' is presenting it.
Talk about some interesting explanations!
I can't really speak of my immediate
biological family. My mother isn't accepting of
my choices in life and in order to protect my
younger brother from being placed in an
uncomfortable position with her, I haven't told
him. I have come to the sad reality that I will
never see my mother again in her life (she lives
in the US and I have migrated to NZ). We do
communicate via e-mails and snail mail, but I
don't even call her given the change in my
voice.
Will I ever tell her? No, my mother has had a
rough time with the simple fact of who I am and
she certainly doesn't need another burden of
mine. She knows I am happy and healthy and so we
have our relationship. I'd rather enjoy her this
way than not at all.
I did have an absolutely wonderful childhood
and was raised with a solid belief system. My
parents loved me and offered me the best of
life. I was my father's "pride and joy" and my
mother's "Gift from God." We lived a very
typical American upper-middle class lifestyle in
the South-Western state of Colorado. I was
active in sports, had horses and was musically
inclined. I was blessed with two brothers who
gave me some of the most memorable moments in my
life. My parents ensured our lives well-rounded
and rich with life. But even with all the
storybook features that my youth offered this
feeling that something was not right never left
me.
Today my life is as close to anything I could
have ever imagined for myself. I have a fabulous
partner and her young son in my life. I have a
solid career with a progressive company. My
friends have taken my transition in stride. I'm
the local bloke among a group of queers and
lesbians. One requires me to do all the blokey
things like move her furniture and tend the BBQ.
To another, I'm her favourite guy and to another
I'm just a friend with facial hair. And what
matters the most is that I am finally myself
when I look in the mirror.
I never hated my body or the fact that I was
not born in a masculine shell. I envied those
who were in that type of body. I wanted that
shell, it matched what was inside. It's almost
resembling the question, "If you could change
anything about your body, what would you
change?" When asked, most people come up with a
list of body parts they would change in order to
allow themselves to become more comfortable in
their body. Things like nose jobs, tummy-tucks,
breasts enlargements and the like.
My answer to that question was ,"I would want
a male body."
