The Gangway: Part VI

Posted: November 29, 2008 in Uncategorized

We had an interesting conversation about passing. ‘Nobody passes’ is the title of a Genderqueer writing anthology. The statement ‘Nobody Passes’ is a manifesto and an empowerment. MTF’s (Male to Female transgenders, I do not use this term to denote transsexuals. I use it for bio-boys who’s internal gender identity is female, regardless of clothing, hormones or surgery) are often very busy with passing for bio-girl. This is such a hard path to take. It is an attempt to stay in the closet. In the beginning we are girl in boys bodies, trying to pass as boys. Our whole lives are spent in the closet hiding and feeling shame for our femininity. However, trying to transition to bio-woman and go back in the closet is a recipe for pain. Do you really want to trade the shame of your intrinsic femininity for the shame for your bio-boy origins. I came out of the closet and I will stay out as genderqueer.
I went to Divas last night, for the first time since are started my social transition. Divas is notorious as a tranny hangout, a place where straight men who are attracted to trannies come, and a place where the tranny sexworkers pick up clients. I had been before as a straight man. This was the first time I went since I started transitioning.
I felt lonely and wanted to to make friends with some transgirls, to have friends who have been through this. Divas is the only place I know of where you know you will meet t-girls. It says something about the discrimination we face that the only easily accessible social scene is the sexworker scene. I avoided it for a long time because of that.
The T-girls were friendly. They volunteered lot of advice about makeup and electrolysis. The girls were mostly straight. The guys who came to pick them up were mostly old and gave the impression that the world had really beaten them down. I sat in a corner and watched the men buy drinks for the t-girls. A lot of the girls just came for company and to be admired. Some of them were working.
As I left the club I got unsolicited advice on becoming a sexworker. One beautiful t-girl who was working outside waiting for a John, complimented me “Honey, you have beautiful legs. You should sell that. You would make lots of money.” As I rode my scooter home, I had a dead feeling inside. Then I started to cry.


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