I Dreamed a Dream in Times Gone By...

 

This past week has been especially difficult because of the second coming out of 'Marcy' Michael's female alter gender identity. My strife is entirely internal. She is not dressing more, she has not come out at work (yet), she is not asking our son to call her mommy (yet), she hasn't even restarted hormones (yet). She just made a declaration of intention and my weary soul is numb with grief again. 

Grief. My old nemesis. We meet again. Last time I went through this I didn't make it. Grief is hard. I felt as though the pain would never end. I felt no one could ever understand the loss and pain I suffered. It was slow loss like terminal illness but without the kind words from friends and family. I suffered without people stopping by to hold my hand or bring me food, without the time off from work, or school. The very special grief feels very private and shameful.

 People understand grief over death. But I hear time and again of quiet suffering of people who endure loss of a different kind like fertility, independence, ability, or even their homes. These losses are misunderstood and seem like less, because everyone is still alive. 'You can always adopt.' 'At least you have someone to take care of you.' 'Plenty of people get by using a wheelchair.' 'You can build a new home somewhere else.' We are foolish when it comes to someone else's loss and pain. We can't know their desolation. We shouldn't compair it. Don't tell me it could be worse he could be dead, that is insult to injury. My life is changed for ever. My grief is not self indulgent whining's. My pain is real, and hot, and crushing.

 There is someone in your life who is celebrating this change. I used to say it all the time. She is joyfully attending Marcy's birthday and I can't stop crying because I am at Michael's funeral. I am happy for her, because I love to see her happy. But that can not lessen my grief because it is mine and not hers.

Last time I recall it being very hard to let go of the title. This is my husband. I am Michael's wife. I am Mrs. Reynolds. It seems like a silly thing to cling to. I didn't realize the status it had attached until I lost it. I have a partner now. My partner and I have a child. My partner. In polite conversation who knows what that means. We may have been together for a month, we may be gay, we may be starting a business, I may be the breadwinner, they may be stay at home with the kids. It was hard. That has gotten easier. 

I feel I may never have children with my partner again. I always imagined a large family. Marcy told me that she looked into sperm banking already and that it was not expensive. Do I really want to inseminated sometime down the line? I think she should bank before restarting testosterone blockers, to preserve her fertility. But I am not comfortable with the idea of having her babies. Which is funny. I have had baby fever the last few months. I probably just sensed this was coming. 

I think what it is is the change in family status is still uncomfortable for me. We are not a perfect traditional couple with a beautiful boy. We are morphing into a new mosaic family with more than one mom,  and an unusual history. Like adoption, step families, foster families, gay families, poly families, and friends who raise children together. I have always thought that there was no lesser family structure as long as everyone loved and protected the children. But this wasn't my dream. 

That what we have to grieve. The dream. The future that will never be. Like those who suffer infertility. I have to let go my desire to have my family the way I want to and surrender to having a family.

If you are not familiar with the stages of grief or you just want to laugh at this delightfully short and funny educational cartoon visit ;  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_Z3lmidmrY

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

  "Hope" is the thing with feathers - (314)
By Emily Dickinson

So the poem. My favorite poem. I chant it to myself sometimes to remind myself to listen to the song. I am here to grow. I hope for better understanding, acceptance, and serenity. The times of hope are small in comparison of the times of sadness and anger. I go to church, I pray, I light a candle and I fill my cup with hope. I carry that cup of light and its song with me through-out my week to stave off the darkness of despair. 

I don't know if I am more prepared to handle the changes then last time. But I know that I must grieve, I know that I must hope, and that I must grow.

How do you handle your grief?

Sexual Satisfactions

It came to my attention lately that few wives and gender variant partners talk about the specifics of their sexual relations. I understand the trepidation. I have danced around the subject many times. My sex-capades are my own and I really want them to be judged by my neighbors, friends, or coworkers. That being said the changes in my relationship touch every aspect of my life. Sex is no exception. I think that everyone has to negotiate the changes in this area their own way. I do wish more people were willing to talk about their sex life struggles as it might be helpful to see that individually we stand together in the insistence that, whatever they are, we have sexual needs that may be difficult to meet with the change. 

I discovered recently that some of my own sexual behavior could be considered fetishistic. I have a phallic fetish, on men. It sounds a little absurd, as most men are born with there very own phallus, and purportedly heterosexual and bisexual women are attracted to men; it doesn't seem like a stretch that I would be attracted to dick. I think I enjoy dick more than the average women (well, androphile, you know what I am getting at). One of the greatest things about becoming sexually active was being allowed to play with penis (and testis). I am so grateful that my first partner didn't make fun of me. I didn't know that my penis fetish was unusual. I figured my friends were just tight lipped about how much they love, touching, gazing, exciting, kissing...their partners genitals. I had male friends who talk about loving to do cunnilingus; certainly I was not the only female who need not to be cajoled into giving head? Well I have enjoyed several partners now. Each and everyone of them commented on my adoration of their genitalia. ::shrug:: So I decided to call it a penis fetish. When someone says what so important about dick (as has happened since I entered the gender variant community) I want to gasp and cover my mouth scandalized. I just can't understand. That is not my experience. I also enjoy gay male porn. (Which is more common than you think).

So that being said. What happens if my partner no longer wants theirs? It is their penis. I can't claim it. But it is the only one I have to play with. I would have a need that is unfulfilled if it became less than functional or was removed. This is just theoretical at the moment, as my partner rarely talks about SRS. She only thinks it would be a reality if we were no longer having sex with each other. Which may very well happen.

I am not attracted to her as a female. Long hair, painted fingernails, lipstick, a fashionable scarf, matching bra and panties. She is a cutie. I think she is adorable but not sexy. I have to close my eyes and picture my husband with his army haircut, in jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt to get in the mood. Sex while she is en femme is very difficult for me. It involves lots of imagination and often results in less than orgasmic results. Also I feel like I am lying when we have sex when she is presenting female. Even pegging is less satisfactory because well that fantasy has to do with 2 phallus toting men.

This is problematic. My penis fetish remains. Part of me is certain that we will be fine so long as I can get her naked and worship the bits of her that don't match the high heeled shoes, and lovely earrings. Part of me believes that sex will disappear. It is not really that simple so much goes into sexual attraction.

A sexual relationship with my partner will be a very hard thing for me to let go of.

I am not sure how to conclude this entry except to point out that my partner as sexual need that are less than fully fulfilled by me. I know she likes the idea of being with a man as a women. I know that she wants to have sex as a women, and enjoys being more passive. These are things that are difficult (or physically impossible) for me to give her.

I am not opening my sex life up for comment, I am sure we will find a way to make it work or give it up. I just want you to know as a reader that these are very real issue to do with transition that are universal to spouses, regardless of that actual nuts and bolts of the conflict. Feel free to share here, if you are comfortable. We have to talk about these things. If we can't talk about them to each other who can we share them with?

Dis-Orientation

Broad shoulders, deep voices, and whiskers on jawlines, these are a few of my favorite things ::sings:: I love how easily men can be distracted and stimulated. I love awkward advances from men who are certain that they are about to be rejected. I could write a lovely lewd ode to the wonders of male genitalia. I love men, this was never uncertain. However, CD's are adorable. I have always found them brave and earnest in their gender expressions.  Put me in a room full of men and I will find the gender variant one the most attractive. It is my six sense. He will be manly, charismatic, and a secret gender outlaw. This affinity and apparent attraction has caused me some confusion. So what am I?

My CDing husband confided in me that he felt he needed to live as a women three years into our marriage. Perhaps I will recount the happenings of trying months that lead up to his revelation but today I would like to share what happened to me when I supported his journey and stayed at his side while our colleagues, friends, and family watched with shock and awe as he transformed. I, a self identified lover of men, suddenly was a lesbian.

Many of my personal heroines are feminist, brash, lady-loving women. I am drawn to tough jobs, military, law enforcement, mining, etc. that call for tough women who are, at a higher rate than the general population, stereotypically, lesbians (or bi-sexual). I had been always proud to be counted in the ranks with my LGBT friends.

I was struck by the positive and negative attention my new status gained me. Acquaintances came out to me assuring me I wasn't the only lesbian in the joint. Others emphatically announced they had lesbian relatives in hopes of making me feel at ease. My father confided that he knew all along that I was one. Some suddenly avoided me as if it was rumored I carried a dreadful antibiotic resistant disease. I was hit on by women (which had happened in the past but not with such frequency or gusto).

I became angry. I wanted to shout I am not a lesbian! In denying the label I was perceived as homophobic, sadly confused, or, in the truest sense, a deviant. If there is a term for a women who enjoys sex and romance with a CD surely it would have almost fit. Right? It was not I who was confused but the public. If I insisted my husband was a women and I loved her I would have to love a women. No one can tell me who I am oriented towards; but they sure tried. I was miserable. My husband laughed off the attention. She took some pleasure from the befuddled looks, answered the personal questions with ease. She took no offense from the mislabels or confusion. Yes, saint like, I know.

I had an identity crisis. I shaved my head. I questioned my motives and inspected myself for signs of hatred. I looked long and hard at definitions of seemingly simple terms like Women or Homosexual. If I had sex with a women once would I forever be a Bisexual? How about if I found the female form attractive and sexual? but what if I disliked sex with a women? What if I found that you could enjoy the touch of a women but could never bring myself to return the that pleasure? No I think one must love women and enjoy sex with women to be a Homosexual women. 

I was not homosexual by my own definition. Why still did being assumed so bother me? So what if the world has got it all wrong? Should I really be bent on setting each and everyone straight? They are wrong. It is very hard to be labeled something you are not even when that label is not negative. Like being called George instead of Jorge, or being (God forgive!) Sir-ed instead of Ma'am-ed, or being mistaken for Mexican when you are Hawaiian. They are just plain wrong.

When my husband came out I felt I entered a closet. I am a dick loving Heterosexual. It is easier let the world think I am a normal lesbian. It is not fair. My husband is back in the closet, and I am out as a Hetero women again. It is good for me. Bad for him, I think. Perhaps he is more resilient than I am. Perhaps I am just cruel for not being more flexible and understanding. I do know that having gone through the coming out with her once. I will not do it again for so many reasons.