We Roughed It Up When We Were Young

I won't be your pawn

Wed, 02 Aug 2006 00:25:34 GMT

He said we still have what we had when we lived together. I wish I disagreed just to be spiteful. I wish I disagreed just to be mean.

I've always been so mean and now I wish I could stop feeling mean. I understand a lot of things I didn't understand even six months ago.

I disagreed with him because I know we don't have what we had then. And it hurts like hell to say it, and to know it. It hurts like hell to remember.

When we lived together, I remember standing in the kitchen in my boxers and a tank top on a Sunday morning. The apartment was a piece of shit and the tiles on the kitchen floor curled up under the soles of my bare feet. Ellis would come wandering out of the bathroom in his silk bathrobe and his hair tied up in a towel, and he'd sit on a stool at the counter. He'd lean forward and he'd watch me as I fried the eggs, as I shook the skillet over the stove. And I would never look at him because I was too scared of what I'd see in his eyes.

Now, I don't look at him because I'm too scared it won't be there.

The Lion Lays Down With the Lamb

Thu, 27 Jul 2006 03:06:15 GMT

Ellis called me to wish me a happy birthday on Saturday.
I said, "Thanks."
He asked, "Well? Are you doing anything special?"
I said, "Nope."
He sighed and said, "I wish I was there."
I said, "It's not a big deal."
And then we didn't say anything for a while. And then he said, "Tony, look, I know it's your birthday and everything, and I hate to make it always about me, but . . . you heard about the Nevada Singing Company, right?"
I told him that I had.
He said, "It just doesn't seem fair. I mean, here I found this place, this really special place, and it's like, as soon as I get here, they take it away from me."
I said, "What are you going to do?"
He let out one of his big, dramatic, Ellis sighs. "Probably just stay here and work at the club, I guess."

I don't know why a part of me expected him to move in with me again. I almost suggested it. I almost said, "Why don't you just come here and crash with me? All your boyfriends are here."
But I don't want him to come because all of his boyfriends are here. I want him to come because I'm here. I want him to come because I didn't even know what I had all those years ago when he lived with me for two years, when he was only a hallway away, when I found him sleeping on the couch with his wig half off and his lipstick smeared and kicked him with the toe of my boot and said, "Come on, go to bed."
But I should have known that we could never have that again.

I was going through my pockets the other day and I found Carrie's phone number. I usually throw phone numbers away when I come across them like that. But I held hers in my hands and looked at it for a long time. There are so many people in the world, and I don't know why there are certain ones that won't let you throw away a piece of paper that says their name on it. She'd written her name in purple pen with the phone number beneath it. I immediately thought of her white skin and big sausage curls. No last name on the sheet of paper. I still don't know her last name. Maybe I'll call her. Just to find out.

All these half-hearted tries

Tue, 30 May 2006 01:56:51 GMT

I'm tired. I had sex last night, but not with you.

It's hard to write the stories when you're in the middle of them and you don't know the ending. It's hard to remember the old stories when you're so caught up in the current one.

You asked me who else was scared of me. I said baby dykes, lesbians who think I'll steal their girlfriends, and Christian conservatives. I have a story about a baby dyke, with big green eyes, who was scared of me and said, "God you really are a man!" but she still let me give her her first kiss from a woman. And her second. And her third, and her fourth. And she said, "If you really were a man, I wouldn't want to do this," and kissed me quickly over bagels at her apartment.

That's a story I always meant to tell, but I'm not going to tell it now.

The first time Ellis ever messed with me the way I've messed with him was May 28th, 2006, at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. In another Super 8 motel.

When he said, "I think that's all--I think I'll leave you wanting more," I wanted to say, "Fuck you, Ellis." I wanted to say, "I hate you."

I said, "Oh, God." Three times. Ellis made me repeat it because he couldn't understand it the first time I said it. It seemed like such a stupid thing to repeat.

He said, "Now you know how I felt all those times you stopped so abruptly."

I told him I never thought of it as being abrupt.

I told him I did it because I was afraid he didn't really want me. He said, "Then we're alike that way."

I said, "Maybe we have more in common than we think."

We both refuse to admit what we know. That inside we're both scared little girls. And that we're both longing for the love of men who aren't really men.

A secret too hard to tell

Sun, 02 Apr 2006 20:24:46 GMT

Michael and I ended up in the lounge together last night watching "The Crying Game." He'd never seen it before. We both must've thought of Ellis, but neither of us said her name. When Dil undresses for the first time, and Fergus freaks out, I said, "Get over it. It's just a penis."

Michael looked at me. He didn't say anything.

I remembered telling Meghan once that I believed someone could be a woman with a penis, that I didn't believe transitioning was necessary, that there are many ways to be a woman. Somehow, after having Ellis' penis inside of me, I forgot all about that. I got messed up inside. I messed up. It took seeing Fergus make a complete ass of himself for me to come to my own senses.

It's just a penis. Our culture has given it an inordinate amount of power, but that doesn't mean I have to. I don't have to give it the power to scare me, or to keep me from admitting the truth. It doesn't have the power to make Ellis a man or to make me a woman or to make either of us straight. Only we have the power to do that.

The morning after, I rode him and he said, "Did you like it better that way?" I said, "Yes," and he said, "Me too."

Maybe it really wasn't a lie and maybe it really never will happen again. But I'd be lying again if I said I didn't want it to.

But I've got this spark, I've got to feed it something

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 04:54:05 GMT

Because you asked with an exclamation point, and I couldn't very well say no.

And because I guess it won't mess up my journal any more than writing here drunk did.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
7:45 am

2. Diamonds or pearls?
Diamonds.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Brokeback Mountain

4. What is your favorite TV show?
There's not really much on the tube for butch dykes these days. I don't like any of it.

5. What did you have for breakfast?
I'm slowly working through a pasty bowl of oatmeal.

6. What is your middle name?
Maria

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
I like those huge burritos, and the kind of greasy cheeseburgers and fries you get at small town diners, and Jambalaya.

8. What foods do you dislike?
I don't like things that are too sweet.

9. Your favorite Potato chip?
Dill Pickle

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
Amy Ray - Prom. And not just at this moment.

11. What kind of car do you drive?
I drive a Dodge pickup and a Harley Davidson motorcycle

12. Favorite sandwich?
Roast beef

13. What characteristics do you despise?
Closed-mindedness. But of course, we're all closed-minded in our own ways. Maybe heterosexism would be more accurate. I sort of despise heterosexuality, actually.

14. Favorite item of clothing?
My harness gives me more pleasure than any other item ever could. Doesn't count? My leather jacket. Or anything with leather.

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?
Why couldn't I go anywhere in the world on vacation? I like warm places. I like Mexico and the South American countries.

16. What color is your bathroom?
White tile, like everyone else's.

17. What is your favorite brand of clothing?
I really couldn't care less.

18. Where would you want to retire to?
Again, someplace warm, and southern. Maybe back to Arizona.

19. Where were you born?
Arizona.

20. Favorite sport to watch?
I don't like watching sports.

21.What laundry detergent do you use?
Tide

22. Are you a morning person or night owl?
Night owl

23. What size shoe do you wear?
Eight

24. Do you have any pets?
Ellis, Alice, and Meghan

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone?
Nope.

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
A mechanic. Boring.

27. Favorite Candy Bar?
Snickers

28. What is your best childhood memory?
I thought childhood sucked, and I'd never want to bring another life into the world and put her through it. But I liked playing "sexy daddy and pretty mommy" with Ellis when we were little. He always giggled too hard to let me kiss him, but I got to punch his tush when I got home from "work."

But I think my favorite childhood memory is the first time I kissed Ellis, because I realized with an aching sweetness then that it was almost over, that childhood wouldn't last forever. He must've realized it too, because there were no giggles that time. Once he accused me of never kissing him unless he was wearing a wig and makeup, but that's not true. The first time, he was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt, no makeup and his boy-cut hair.

29. What are the different jobs you have had in your life?
Mechanic, Performer, Foodservice worker

30. What color underwear are you wearing?
White

31. Nicknames:
Bobbie, Tone,

32. Piercing?
Ears, but I hardly ever wear earings.

33. Eye color?
Brown

I deleted that disgusting Roseanne Barr reference.

38. Ever been to Africa?
No

39. Ever been toilet papering?
Yeah

40. Love someone so much it made you cry?
Oh, shit. I guess so.

41. Been in a car accident?
Nope.

42. Croutons or bacon bits?
Croutons, but I'm not thrilled with either

43. Favorite day of the week?
Saturday

44. Favorite flower?
Amaryllis. They're so obscene.

45. Favorite ice cream?
I don't like ice cream very much. But if I'm going to have it, I like it to have nuts. I like the Peanut Buster Parfaits at Dairy Queen.

46. Disney or Warner Brothers?
Do I care? Neither of them are rushing to make gay-friendly flicks.

47. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Taco John's

48. What color is your bedroom carpet?
Gray, like everyone else's.

49. Failed your drivers test?
Nope

50. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Heh. Fascinations.

51. What do you do most often when you are bored?
Tune up my cycle, flip through chick magazines, update this thing

52. Bedtime?
I usually get into bed at around midnight and lie there until about two.

53. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire?
I'm not that curious about anyone because these aren't very interesting questions. But Alice, if you're reading, why don't you give it a shot.

54. Last person you went to dinner with?
I'm not the type who "goes to dinner." Maybe Ellis way back when Michael went to do that support Milo thing.

55. Ford or Chevy?
Chevy, given the options

56. What are you listening to right now?
Amy singing songs from RENT in the bathroom.

57. What is your favorite color?
Black

58. Lake, Ocean or river?
Ocean

59. How many tattoos do you have?
One around the top of my arm. But I'd like to get more.

60. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
This is such an anti-clamactic ending.

I'm the dyke who will give it to you

Wed, 08 Mar 2006 01:43:04 GMT

There are stories where I hurt him, and I don't like telling these stories, but I don't like keeping them inside, either.

Ellis always had a thing for the homophobes. There was this one kid, John. He was a grade younger than me and a grade older than Ellis. He and I were always running across each other. Ever since we were little kids, we'd be in the park at the same time, playing baseball. We'd be down by the pond, rolling up our jeans and strolling in. Once when he must've been about fourteen, he sneered at me and peeled off his shirt before he went in. I peeled off my shirt and followed him.

John had a buzz cut that made him look like he was always ready to be shipped off to war. We played on the same baseball team in high school, but he hated me for being better at it than him. I'd strike him out during practice. Once we had a game where we had three men on (and they were all men; I was the only female on the team), and John was up to bat. He struck out. I was up next. I got home, along with everyone else on the bases. We won that game. He spit on my cleats when I walked by him afterwards.

The next time I saw him at the pond, he asked me what kind of sorry excuse for a girl I was. He said, "You look like a total freak on the team, with your tits all flopping around when you run."

I said, "It probably looks about as silly as your dick flopping around."

He said, "I want you off."

I said, "Tough shit."

His face had been hard, but the features went soft just before he looked away from me, toward the water. He said, "Maybe you could . . . throw like a girl once in a while."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

He glared at me.

I said, "Look, I'm not going to fuck up out there just to make you look good."

He said, "Just forget it."

He took off his shirt and threw it on the bank. I saw the bruises on his shoulders before he dove into the water.

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He was one of the jocks who would trip Ellis in the halls, but Ellis was ga ga for him anyway. He went to baseball games saying he was watching me, but I knew whose ass his eyes were really on. He went to all his football games, too. I told him he was a homophobic jerk. I told him to stay away from him. The truth was I was afraid for Ellis. The truth was, I didn't hate John, and I didn't think he was a jerk. My heart hurt when I thought about the bruises along the ridge of his back. I was afraid of bruises like that on Ellis' back. I was afraid John needed something weak to mess with, and he wasn't getting it from me.

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John went to college out in Los Angeles. His Freshman year, my sophomore year, we both came home from college for homecoming. Ellis was a senior in high school. He wore a cheerleading outfit and stood on the sideline doing all the cheers, even though they wouldn't let him be part of the team officially. Eventually the principal blustered up and ended up dragging him off the field, but Ellis winked and kicked up his leg on his way out. The cheerleaders convulsed in giggles. The jocks rolled their eyes or smirked. The parents in the stands did all of the above.

After the game, John showed up at my house. The next morning, Ellis showed up, but by that time, John had already gone.

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Ellis was bubbling over with excitement. "Did you see? Did you notice? That John's back in town?" He stood in my kitchen in a pink fuzzy sweater and tight blue jeans, light makeup and no wig.

"Yeah. So." I wore a t-shirt and boxers. I dug around in the refridgerator.

"I talked to him last night," gushed Ellis. He came around the table so he was hovering over me. "He says if I'm ever in LA, I should stop by and see him. He SAID that, Tony."

"Oh."

"So, when are we going?"

"Huh?"

"To LA. I thought maybe we could do it over Thanksgiving break."

"El, he said if you're ever in the area. That's not the same as inviting you for a visit."

"But if we end up in LA, we WILL by in the area, won't we?" I closed the refridgerator and he grabbed onto my arm. "PLEASE, Tony, Please! I don't want to go alone!"

"Would you?"

"I don't WANT to."

"I'll think about it."

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Of course, I knew we would go. I knew I wouldn't say no to him. I'm about as horrible at saying no to him as he is at saying no to me. So the day after Thanksgiving we were in my pickup and we were heading to Los Angeles for the first time. The whole time, I felt sick. I felt afraid Ellis would make a fool of himself, and I was tired of being the only one who seemed to have enough dignity to care. He talked about John nonstop. He replaid the conversation from Homecoming about twenty times, analyzing it from every possible angle and wanting me to say the things he wanted to hear. I wasn't going for it. He was being such a girl.

He said, "Come ON, Tony. Can't you be happy for me? A little bit?"

I said, "This is stupid. He's probably not even there. He's probably back home."

"Nope. Called his parents on Thanksgiving. They said he wasn't home."

I wondered if that was because it was Ellis calling but I didn't say anything about it.

"He could still be somewhere else. I'm tired of driving and we don't have money for a hotel and this is stupid."

"Tony! I'll pay for the hotel. You know that."

The traffic on the interstate into LA was freaking me out and making me tense, but I didn't want Ellis to know that.

"Come on! This could be LOVE."

I snorted. "I doubt that. He's not even a good lay."

Ellis giggled. "Oh, how would you know?"

I didn't say anything. I thought about John at my front door. I thought of the way I narrowed my eyes, and the way he held up his hands but didn't say anything. I thought of the way I said, "All right," and, "Meet me above my dad's shop." I thought about my parents sitting on the couch in the living room, watching me as I walked down the hall to my bedroom and came out with my backpack slung over my shoulder. My harness and dildo were inside. They didn't say anything. If they knew what was going to happen, they still wouldn't have said anything because they would have been thrilled that it was with a guy, even if it was premarital dildo sex.

I thought about how I thought about Ellis that night, and how maybe I was doing it to make him angry at me and angry at John and end up protecting him from John in the end. I thought about how maybe I was doing it because I felt sorry for John and I wanted to fuck him the way he wanted to be fucked while he could still get away with it because underneath it all, I still had a cunt.

Ellis said, "Tony, you aren't saying anything."

And still, I didn't.

Ellis said, "Tony, you wouldn't know, you couldn't have . . ."

I said, "Why not?"

He said, "Because . . . because you're GAY."

I said, "I'm still gay."

He said, "But you like GIRLS." Now his voice was trembling. Now he was on the verge of tears. Now I hated myself and still wondered if I was saving him.

I said, "I'm sorry."

He said, "You KNEW how I felt about him."

I said, "El, you feel that way about EVERYONE."

He wiped his hand across his eyes and it came away smeared with mascara. "Tony, you could've told me before we left. God, now . . . look at this, I'm a mess."

I said, "There's Kleenex in the glove compartment."

"Why?"

"Because, I felt sorry for him."

"You felt SORRY for him? Tony, he cold have any girl, he had lots of girlfriends and--"

"He couldn't have the kind of girl he wanted."

"That was YOU?"

"That's not what I mean. Never mind."

"No, what did you mean? Tell me what you did mean."

"I mean he wanted to be fucked, okay? He didn't want to fuck me. He wanted to be fucked."

Ellis started taking these quick, shallow breaths. The sun was going down. The traffic had become less dense.

"When did it happen?"

I wouldn't answer him.

"Tony, when did it happen?"

"The night of the Homecoming game."

"Oh, God!" And then he was crying again, yanking Kleenex after Kleenex out of the box and burying his face in them and sobbing. I reached over and put my hand on his arm, but he shook it away. The Kleenex kept coming away from his face covered in pink and purple and red and peach and black. Rainbow colored Kleenex littered the seat between us.

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We didn't talk anymore on that ride. Ellis regained his composure enough to reapply his makeup. When we got to the hotel, I told the attendant we wanted two rooms. Ellis stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Then he grabbed his key off the counter and stalked down the hall.

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My stomach hurt all that night. I didn't fall asleep until six am, and then an hour later there was a knock on the door. I mumbled, "Go away." The knock came again. I staggered to the door, in my t-shirt and underwear, and opened it. It was Ellis, and he was all done up, the makeup, the wig, this little purple sundress with a matching handbag. He pushed his way into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Tony, why did you DO that?"

"God, Ellis." I turned away from him and went over to the bed, but I didn't sit down. "We already talked about this."

"We did NOT talk about this." He stamped his foot. "You never asked if that was okay with me."

"I don't usually ask your permission before I fuck someone."

"No! The rooms, Tony." He fumbled with his handbag and pulled out his key. He tossed it on the bed. His lower lip began to tremble. "I didn't want to spend the night by myself."

"I thought you were mad at me."

"I was. But not THAT mad!" And then he started crying, and I pulled him close to me, and I said, "I'm sorry, El. I'm sorry." He rubbed his face against my t-shirt and left pink marks on the collar.

We laid down in bed together and he curled up against me, shaking with sobs and digging his big hands with the long, fake fingernails into my shoulders, pressing his face into my neck. Eventually, we fell asleep that way. We never did see John.

I'm just a magnet for the rural faggots

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 15:15:23 GMT

Yesterday Ellis sent me a red rose. The note said, "Love, Ellis." I don't know why I was surprised. I realized after getting it that it would have been more unusual for him not to get me anything. He's given me Valentine's gifts for as long as I can remember, even since before we were friends. When he was little, he'd come knock on the door and leave little heart shaped bags or baskets of candy with pipe-cleaner handles with my mom for me. This used to delight my mom to no end. "Oh, that little boy next door has a crush on you. You should play with him more."

They stopped feeling that way when he started wearing girls' clothes in public. Which is when I started hanging out with him.

And after that, he stopped sending Valentines to me at home and started getting them to me at school. Sometimes he'd hand them to me on the bus and I'd be so embarrassed that I'd shove them in my pocket, hoping no one had seen them. Somehow he'd get them into my Valentine's box at school, even though those were only supposed to be for classmates. Inevitably, I'd go through my generic valentines from my classmates and there'd be one from Ellis in there. "I love you!" written in green marker. When other kids teased me about him, I'd say, "Lay off, he's just a little kid." I don't remember ever thanking him, but I do remember how we got together after school in his yard or mine and dumped our candy out. I let him have first choice of the candy in my pile. I think he got the idea.

In high school, he left cards or candy or flowers in my locker. It didn't embarrass me then. Maybe because no one else cared anymore. I'd find him in the hall and punch him on the shoulder and say, "How's my favorite fag doing this fine Valentine's day?"

I didn't start doing anything for him until we lived together. Then I took him out to fancy restaurants and gave him the roses, the whole nine yards. Only if he didn't have a date with someone else, of course. I give a damn good consolation prize.

I had a sex education without a word for my gender

Wed, 01 Feb 2006 03:59:33 GMT

It could mean that s/he doesn't want to have sex without a dildo strapped to hir. It could mean that s/he doesn't want you to use the word 'pussy' to refer to hir body, even when you're in it elbow-deep. The plain fact of the matter is, there is no one vocabulary or practice that confers stone butchdom; it's unique to each individual stone butch. And to make things even more confusing, the rules often shift.
For example, some stone butches like to be penetrated in certain circumstances, but not in others. Or by certain lovers, but not by others. It's tough, because you may not know how to approach hir during sex and s/he may not know how well-versed you'll be in responding sexually to the heavily nuanced phenomenon of hir gender. The best advice I can give in general is to maintain a deep respect for hir masculinity, even when you're both confronted by a physical femaleness that, during sex, can be tough to disguise.
- Ask Fairy Butch, "No More Stone Butch Blues."

I've been thinking a lot about Vic lately, I think because she's one of the only people I can imagine talking to about what's happened. Vic had short, light brown, spiked hair and she had pecs to make the college boys jealous. She wore tight tan t-shirts and cargo pants. Her chest was hard and mostly flat, and I think I might have been a little jealous of that. Vic and I both fucked Janeway, and I think Janeway led both of us to believe she preferred us. Vic and I never fucked each other. Once we played a drunken game of spin the bottle and got each other. After the kiss, we kept giving each other sidelong glances and smirking, I think because we both realized how ridiculous it had felt. Everyone else probably thought we were imagining what we would have done if we were alone. We had an unspoken agreement to let people assume whatever they would assume.

I think we also had an unspoken agreement that we didn't fuck each other because both of us thought it would be a little too much like fucking a man. Even though, by that time, I'd already fucked a few biological men--mostly closeted faggots who thought a fuck with me would make them straight. I didn't let most of my dyke friends know about these encounters, but I told Vic. She drew in on her cigarrette and asked, "Did you let them fuck you?" I said, "Hell no."

We pitied them, but I think the tenderness I felt was stronger than Vic's. We sat on the tailgate of my pickup in the Dairy Queen parking lot all night long, smoking and drinking and talking about the people we'd fucked. We swapped stories about the shapes of girls' tits and the tastes of their cunts--things most of our lesbian friends would call us jerks for. I'd get back to the apartment at daybreak, and Ellis would be awake. He always pretended like he was just getting up to go running, but I knew he'd been waiting up, worried. He'd say, "Oooh, you must've got lucky last night."

I never corrected him.

After all this time, I can't put you aside

Sun, 08 Jan 2006 05:50:09 GMT

Sometimes I think people are waiting to find out the reason for me being the way that I am. They're waiting for the story that will clear up the mystery.

There is no story like that.

There is no reason, and things don't always work out as neatly as we'd like. Some loose ends never get tied up. Some plotlines never get resolved.

People have the idea that I don't fall in love, or maybe that I can't fall in love. I don't think I've ever said that. If I had, I'm not saying it's a lie. Maybe that's because I'm not even sure what this thing we call "falling in love" is.

No one keeps secrets from me. Instead, I am the secret. I am the risk they take.

I called Liza at ten o'clock on Christmas night. My parents were already in bed. I had the cordless in my bedroom. I stood in front of the mirror while I talked to her. I said, "Hey, I'm in town."

She said, "Tony, I can't."

I said, "Maybe some other time."

She said, "I mean, ever."

"Why not?"

"I'm getting married."

"Oh." I watched myself in the mirror. My face didn't change. My face didn't do anything. If she'd told me in person, she'd think I didn't give a shit. I said, "Who is she?"

She said, "It's not a she."

I said, "Oh."

I realized I didn't like cordless phones because there's nothing to twist your fingers in. I said, "Well, why?"

She said, "Because, people are starting to talk." Her voice got real quiet. "And the things they're saying are true. And I'm afraid I'll lose my job. And in spite of everything, I love this town. I love these kids."

I didn't say anything. I thought about her in the history classroom, saying, "There are others like you." I wanted to say that if she loved the kids, she'd be the dyke she was born to be so that they could see that it was okay. A part of me admired her for what she was doing, giving up one sort of love for the sake of another. Of course, another part of me despised her for leaving us.

I said, "Okay, if that's what you want."

She said, "Thank you for understanding."

I wanted to tell her she was my favorite, my favorite dyke in town. Probably one of my favorite dykes ever. That I would miss the little lines that had started to form around her eyes and her silver-wheat colored hair. And especially her wheat colored freckles, on her nose and her shoulders and every other part of her body. Taking the bobbie pins out of her bun and her quiet sighs when she came. And the way she always got out of bed early and made coffee and got me to stay for a cup, even when I had every intention of walking out the door the moment I was dressed.

Instead, I said, "Look me up if you ever get out of this godforsaken town."

She said, "Okay. I will."

I heard a smile in her voice. My face in the mirror was still blank.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I laid in my bed with the lights on and stared at the ceiling. I didn't bring the phone back to the kitchen. Hours passed. I don't think I had a single thought, in all that time. The phone rang at two am and it was Ellis. He wanted to talk or to come over or something. I don't remember the conversation. I got a bottle of brandy my parents got for egg nog and met him out in Dad's shop. We went up to the loft and he talked about Michael. I knew he wanted me to mess with him, but I didn't. I didn't even touch him. Not that night.

Come a little bit closer, closer than you are

Fri, 30 Dec 2005 03:56:31 GMT

Ellis says in the long run everything will go back to being the way it was. Of course it will. Of course.

I have stories to tell. I have a story about the day that I found Ellis in the principal's office wearing a pink dress. I don't want to tell my stories today. I want to tell the story that twists and winds around my heart and my stomach and around my neck. I want to tell the story that pushes against my throat. I want to tell the story I can never tell for you and that I can barely tell for myself.

I actually like the way nicotine gum tastes. I like Cajun restaurants and whiskey and winter is my favorite season. I like cold wind, but not snow or rain. I don't know what I like to feel because usually I don't feel much at all. I like to feel in control. I like to stay up at night staring at the ceiling and listening to Amy Ray and sleep in late the next morning. I like sex. I like fast bikes. I love Phoenix and Fascinations.

I cried yesterday. I didn't play any sports in high school, even though my dad thought it was the last I could do if I was going to act like a guy anyway. No wait, I played baseball. I don't remember the last time I laughed, but that's not as traumatic as it sounds. I just don't remember, but it probably wasn't long ago. Ellis is the only person who ever hugs me. Not quite, but mostly. Ellis is the last person I kissed. I feel depressed. I feel elated. I never fake being sick. I've talked enough about how much I lie.

I feel like I haven't opened my mouth all day and I don't remember the last word I said. I ate French Fries from MacDonald's today. I listened to Dar Williams. I'm drinking whisky right now. I recently visited my parents. I'm back in Minnesota now. I watched Go Fish again for the scene where whats-her-name sleeps with a guy and all her lesbian friends get mad at her. She was always my favorite character. That's my favorite movie just for her. I don't care that the acting sorta sucks. I rented some movie while I was at home but I didn't get around to watching it. It was that one about the gay teacher. I don't remember the name. I went to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival last year.

Ellis, Ellis, Ellis, Ellis, Ellis, Ellis. I guess I have an instinct for it. I tried calling Alice and hung up before she picked up the phone. I want to see Brokeback Mountain even though I wish they'd make a movie about dykes already. I saw RENT in the theater. I went by myself. I saw Michael in the hall at the vending machine. He was getting milk duds. he smiled at me. I probably smiled back. Reflexes.

I guess I'm not really angry with him or her. Ellis, Ellis.

I'm not the type to dance in the rain. Of course I've kissed someone before. I did some drugs in college, especially at Jane-way's place. I'm drinking alcohol right now. Yeah, I sleep around, but I'm discreet about it. That's what Ellis's dad said about me. "At least she's discreet about it." Something like that. I've partied till the sun came up lots of times, then puked till the sun went down. Jane-way and I tried to have a lesbian movie marathon once and watch a bunch of lesbian movies in chfronologiclal order, but her attention span wasn't long enough. I took the movies back to my apartment and watched them with Ellis instead. Ellis and I used to live together. I guess I have stories about that, too. It seems unreal now.

Maybe there's no such thing as going too far.

I don't like to spin and I don't like to be dizzy. I've never done drunk-dialing before, but now the internet givews us a whole new version of it for those of us who never much liked talking on the phone anyway.

A new gender nation with a new desire

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 01:53:10 GMT

Mostly, I just lie by omission, which doesn't really count. Or I lie not knowing the words I speak are lies, like when I told Ellis it would never happen again ten minutes before it happened again. Maybe I meant it would never happen again outside of that night, outside of that room, but I know now that that was also a lie.

The first time that Ellis ever saw me cry was December 27th, 2005. We were in the same Super 8 Motel and we finished what we started there 8 years ago. There was no laughter involved. And he already knows this story.

He. The pronoun is not as benign as it used to be. It used to be just a word and now I'm asking myself if I really knew this all along. I ask myself why I never said She if that's what I really believed deep down. I ask myself if I can start doing it now and somehow find a way to get Her back.

Ellis said, "I love you, Tony."

Ellis said, "It hurts, but it's the kind of hurt that you hope will last forever."

I said, "I know what that feels like."

Me and the bottle are on the mend

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 04:46:40 GMT

Sometimes I wish I had a little black book to write all my secrets in. But I know I'd never write in it. I don't have secrets anyway. Events aren't secrets. I can tell you everything that happened. And I really don't lie.

Jane-way and I used to have crazy, wild sex. The kind of sex you see in foreign films, dirty and unedited. I fucked her so hard that the bed banged against the wall, and her fingernails left little crescent moon marks on my ass. That was us.

Once we laid in bed, her small bed in her small apartment where everything was red--red lampshades, red dresser, red pillows, red curtains. We laid back against the pillows, the sweat drying on our skin. She rolled over and reached into the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a dildo and held it up, her red painted lips spreading wide. "OK," she said. "My turn."

I waved my hand at her dismissively. "We've already done that."

"Oh, come on." She leaned over me so her red-tipped hair brushed against my breasts.

I pushed her away and chuckled a little bit. "I said I don't want to."

She leaned close and whispered, "What if I could make you want to?" Her tongue slid into my ear.

I said, "We're through tonight, babe. Maybe some other time."

She rolled over again and pulled a harness out of her nightstand. She started fitting the dildo into it. I slapped her hand. "I said NO, okay?"

It wasn't a playful slap. A red mark blossomed on the back of her hand and she drew it close against her chest. Her eyes held a hurt, reprimanded child look. I couldn't look at it, this big, strong woman with long legs and broad shoulders and sassy red-tipped hair, holding her hand to her chest with that lost child look.

I reached for my clothes. She said, "Look, I'm sorry."

I said, "I'm leaving."

Ain't No Man Could Ever Hold Her

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 04:03:31 GMT

Ah, the holidays. 'Tis the season to contact all your old friends and tell them how disappointed you are in them. I received the following email today from a college friend:

hey, tone, what's up? i was just surfin' the net lookin' for some of the gang, thinkin' i'd send y'all some xmas cards or something. i came across your blog and was all like, is this for real? this ain't OUR tony, is it?
girl, what's with all this 'he' this and 'he' that shit? your blog reads like a pathetic het unrequited love story. you've got a real opportunity to speak about our issues and our community. stop whinin' about what's-his-name and use your voice for the things that are really important.
hope we can get in touch soon,
jane-way

Dear Jane-way,
I do not whine.
Forgive me if my definition of 'queer' is breaking down boundaries rather than creating them.
Tony

No amount of kindness can turn it the other way

Tue, 06 Dec 2005 03:58:06 GMT

Ellis filled out one of those surveys a few weeks ago and said he'd lied to protect a friend. I started thinking of all the lies I've told. And I've told a lot of them. I'm such a liar that I don't know why I bother to write any of these things down. How does the rest of the world know I'm telling the truth? How do I?

There are so many reasons for lying. I don't think I lie to protect friends. I think telling the truth, even when it's ugly, is the greatest kindness you can do your friends. This gets me thinking to why I do lie, and I guess it just must be to protect myself.

Several months ago Ellis told me that he missed me. I told him, sorry, I wasn't the type who missed people. I don't think that was exactly a lie. But it wasn't exactly the truth, either. I don't miss people, but I miss moments. I miss Ellis in the long blonde wig he favored in high school, and the red flapper dress he found at a thrift store and danced around in in my bedroom, the red high heels clacking on my hardwood floor. The shoes weren't quite his size and he tripped and fell backwards onto my bed. I stood above him with my arms crossed over my chest. I thought about kissing him but I didn't, I just stood there and looked. His legs were splayed at odd angles from the knees down.

I miss lying in the bed of my truck pressing my tongue into Ellis' mouth. It was only a little over a month ago, but it seems much, much longer. It was like reliving our high school prom. Except I chickened out doing anything physical with him that night. He looked too pretty.

Try to put your finger on it

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 03:54:41 GMT

I didn't care for Ellis much when we were real little kids. Our houses had a fence between them (Heaven forbid the queer kids find out about each other), but I could see into the Anderson's yard if I climbed the tree in our backyard just fine. I remember sitting up there and watching his dad try to play catch with him, and he'd always miss the ball or it would hit him in the head and he'd cry. And I remember thinking, "What a sorry excuse for a boy."

For my fifth birthday party, my aunts and uncles and cousins from my dad's side came to the house, as well as my uncle Rod from my mom's side. We all sat around on lawn chairs in the backyard, eating candy from the pinata and drinking lemonade and eating cake. Everyone watched me opening my presents. I don't remember much of what I got that year. I'm sure it was all junk. Except I do remember that my grandma down in Mexico sent a package up for me. It was a really big deal, and everyone was on the edge of their seats when I pulled the brown wrapping off that box. Inside was a white, floor-length dress. The skirt had layers of ruffles and a pink sash tied around the waist. The sleeves were poofy. It was like a quinceanera dress, ten years early. Everyone oohed and ahhed about how gorgeous it was. Dad said, "Well, sweetie, why don't you go inside and put it on. Show everyone how it looks?"

I said, "I feel like I'm going to throw up." Which was true, more or less.

Mom said, "Ah, I knew you ate too much cake," and then the grown-ups started bustling around cleaning up wrapping paper and throwing paper cups and plates into the garbage. While they were busy, I went over to the tree in the backyard and sat down next to it, sulking. That's when I noticed that Ellis was peeking over the top of the fence.

I said, "What are you looking at?"

He said, "That sure was a pretty dress you got."

I said, "You can have it."

His eyes got wide. (And by the way, his eyes were the only part of his face I could really see, that and his flop of brown bangs). "Really?"

"Sure." I went back to the hustle and bustle of the post-party cleanup. I took the dress out of the bag and flung it over the top of the fence. I heard Ellis squeal on the other side when he caught it.

After that, sometimes I'd sit in the tree and watch him prance around the yard in that dress. I was two years older and he was tall for his age, so the dress fit him quite well. He'd curtsy and hold out his hand to be kissed by imaginary men. And I remember thinking that he made a much better girl than I did.

Quantify the undoing of each little step

Fri, 28 Oct 2005 01:45:51 GMT

Ellis and I used to ride our bikes all around town, all year round, in the evenings and on weekends and in the summer. It was a nice, gender neutral activity--except for the pink streamers on Ellis' bike and the little flowers on his bike basket.

My uncle worked as a hired hand on a ranch two miles beyond the edge of town. We used to put a bag of sandwiches or cookies into the basket on Ellis' bike and ride out to the ranch. We went out there to be alone. We went to a shed on the edge of the property and parked our bikes next to it and sat down with our backs against the building. If anyone found us there, I said I was there to bring a snack to my uncle. That was the kind of thing a considerate niece would do. Most of the time, no one saw us and then we ate the sandwiches and cookies ourselves before we got on our bikes to head home.

The year I turned twelve we went there a lot. That was the year my classmates all started hooking up and "going out" with each other. That was the year people whispered and snickered about the people who no one wanted to "go out" with. That was the year that I stopped being called a tomboy and started being called a dyke. I didn't even know what a dyke was back then, but in the midst of all the jeers and whispers, I somehow knew that it was true.

Ellis was only ten. He was in fourth grade. Kids in his class were gearing up, but you could still not "go out" with someone and slip under the radar. Of course, Ellis could never slip under anyone's radar.

One night at the ranch, I asked Ellis, "Would you rather kiss a boy or a girl?"

He blushed. "A boy." He started picking at his fingernails and then went, "Shoot," and sat on his hands. I put my hand in his lap and said, "You can pick my fingernails. They're not pretty like yours."

He took my hand. "I wouldn't do that."

He looked at my short fingernails and the dirt and grease in the crevices of my palm. He said, "What about you?"

I said, "A girl."

He let go of my hand and looked me straight in the eye then. His eyes seemed huge in the darkness that was falling around us. He asked, "Do you think I'm a boy? Really?"

I said, "Of course not."

And to prove it, I kissed him.

It took ten years, but I called you back

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 02:04:41 GMT

Mandy never talked to me again after that, not even to warn me against telling anyone. Once in a while we'd pass in the hall and she'd look over her shoulder but she'd never let her eyes meet mine for long. If I caught her, she'd suddenly become very engaged in whatever her friends were saying.

Of course I didn't tell anyone. I can't imagine she did, but I think people seemed to know. Mandy probably said something to one person, one person who may have said something to someone else. I just noticed that hallways or classrooms got quiet for a little while after that whenever I walked in. Then again, maybe I was imagining it and classrooms had always been quiet when I walked in.

Ms. DeMarco taught history class, yes, the same history class that I had with Mandy. One day she asked me to stay after class. I walked to the front of the room and stood at her desk. She turned toward me but didn't stand up. She had pale gray freckles and little tortoise-shell glasses. She was thin and delicate looking. She was young, but her hair was this dull blonde color that almost looked gray in certain light. She always kept it pulled back in this tight coil at the nape of her neck, but I could see how it shone under the flourescent classroom light. Her eyes were gray.

She took off her glasses, folded them up, and put them on her desk. "Antonia . . ."

"Tony," I corrected her.

"Of course." Her face flushed. "Tony, I just want to let you know . . . I'm sure it seems like you're the only one sometimes in this town, but you aren't."

At first I wasn't sure what she meant. Give me a break, I was sixteen, remember, and I wasn't used to teachers talking to me. I got okay grades and I stayed out of their way and they did the same. I certainly wasn't used to teachers acknowledging that sexual ambiguity existed in the world.

"I mean, there are others like you."

She seemed calm, but I remember my heart started hammering away in my ribs. I wasn't sure if I was angry with her or grateful. Hell, maybe I just wanted her. But I was quicker on the uptake this time. "Of course there are other people like me in this town. Ellis." I smirked.

She didn't smirk. She smiled. I remember thinking that Ellis would have liked it. It wasn't like the sneering smiles of the jocks when he walked by them in the hall or the hidden-behind-hands smirks of the popular girls. It was a warm, real smile. A smile that said, "Of course, Ellis." A smile that welcomed everything he was.

She said, "Besides just you and Ellis, even."

I knew what she was telling me then. I nodded.

"Let me know if you need any resources or anything."

"Thanks."

We waited until after I had graduated to start sleeping together. But I still see her every time I go back to my hometown.

Other girls made the cut, but avoided me

Sun, 09 Oct 2005 00:51:58 GMT

In April of my junior year, I stayed in the stall of the girls' bathroom and listened to a group of girls at the sink talking about the prom. They were all girls in my grade: Alexis, Mandy, and Jennifer. Mandy was the center of attention. She lowered her voice conspiratorially and said, "Jack thinks we should sleep together after the prom."

It was clear that Alexis and Jennifer were both virgins by the gasps and the breathy whispers of, "Are you going to?" I stood there leaning against the stall door, wondering why high school girls got so worked up about fucking their boyfriends. As if it hadn't been done three-thousand times before.

"I don't know," said Mandy. "I keep trying to bring birth control up to my mom, but I keep chickening out. I mean, I could ask him to use a condom, but I hear that feels weird."

"Do you need to have a parent go with you to get birth control?" asked Jennifer. "I heard that you didn't."

"I don't know!" said Mandy. "If I don't do it, I'm afraid he'll break up with me."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. What if I don't know what to do? What if it doesn't feel good? What if it hurts?"

"Oh, if you love him, it'll be wonderful."

Oh my God.

The bell rang and they said things like, "We'll talk about this later," and "Tell us what you decide--prom is in two weeks!"

I came out of the stall. Mandy was still at the sinks. She was looking at herself in the mirror. She wore a short sleeved green shirt and jeans. Her hair was the color of wheat in the sun and it was down. She had little freckles and she only wore a little bit of makeup, a line of blue eyeshadow and lipgloss. I washed my hands, watching her in the mirror.

I said, "The bell already rang."

She said, "I know."

I turned around and leaned against the sink. I crossed my arms over my chest and I looked at her. She smiled at me sheepishly. "You won't blab to the whole school, will you?"

I almost laughed. I found it incredibly amusing that she hadn't noticed that the only person I ever talked to in this Godforsaken school was Ellis. Who would I blab to? And what would I say? "Did you hear some guy and some girl are going to have sex?" That wouldn't make the front page anytime soon. But I said, "No, of course not."

We were silent.

I said, "Look, if you're nervous . . ."

She looked at me hopefully. "Have you . . . ?"

"Oh yeah. Lots of times."

"*Really*?"

I nodded.

"Is it . . . ?"

"I can't really describe it, you know? You should come to my place sometime. I could show you what it's like."

"You mean . . . ?" Her eyes started to get wide, but then she quickly looked away.

"Oh, lots of girls do it," I said. "It helps you know what to expect. And guys love it when a girl knows what she's doing. And technically, you're still a virgin."

"God, I'm going to be so late for class!" Mandy looked at me again. "Well, um, it was nice talking to you." She grabbed onto a piece of her hair, pulled it a few times, and then rushed out of the bathroom.

------------

I had American history with her and it was the last class of the day. For all I know, she'd never noticed before that I was in that class. But this time, she kept looking over her shoulder at me and then looking back up toward the teacher. I sat in the back row near the door. She sat in the aisle across from me two seats up. About fifteen minutes before the bell rang, the girl across from me passed me a note with a quizzical look. I opened it. It was from Mandy. It said, "Where do you live?"

--------------

My parents went to church on Saturday nights and then they went out for dinner afterwards. By that time, I had already stopped going to church because my mother wouldn't allow me to go without wearing a dress, and I wouldn't put on a dress. So I told Mandy to come by my dad's garage at 8 pm on Saturday. It was just starting to get dark. I waited outside of the garage, walking back and forth. I must have smoked about 13 cigarettes. I thought I should brush my teeth and I wondered whether her boyfriend smoked and whether she'd mind the taste. I hadn't told Ellis about this night because I was afraid to be humiliated if she didn't show up. I looked at my watch about every 2 minutes, and at 8:30, she still hadn't come. I turned on the outside light on my dad's garage so she could find it in the dark. I went inside the garage and turned on the inside lights. There was an attic above the garage and in the attic was a mattress where my dad fucked other women. I went up to that mattress and smoothed the blankets on it again--green wool--and turned on the lamp next to it. Then I felt the pressure building in my chest and I kicked the mattress a couple times. I bit my lip until it hurt because I was not going to cry. So the bitch wasn't coming. What was that to me?

Except that's when I heard the door slam and a voice from downstairs. "Hello?"

And that was how I lost my virginity.

A tale of my only brother

Thu, 15 Sep 2005 03:13:39 GMT

The day I turned 18, I had a roundtrip ticket for a Greyhound bus bound for Phoenix. I woke up that day and thought, "By the time I go to sleep tonight, I'll have a cock." I got out of bed and spiked my hair as if I were a throw-back eighties punker.

Ellis asked, "Do you want me to come with you?"

I said, "Nice try, Baby Boy. They don't let 16-year-old's in. I've tried it."

He said, "I could wait for you outside."

I said, "This is something I have to do on my own."
- - - -
I called him from a pay phone on the same block as Fascinations when I was done. My brand new dick was flesh colored and curved at the end and 6 1/2 inches long. It hung in a plastic bag from my wrist. When he picked up, I said, "I have it."

He said, "That's great!"

I said, "I'll need to try it out."

He said, "Of course you will!"

I said, "Can you come to Phoenix?"

He said, "On me?!?"

I said, "Only if you want to."

He said, "I think I can use my mom's car."

----------

I found a Super 8 right along the highway so it would be easy for him to find. I was insanely nervous about making him drive in the city for me. He'd had his license all of five months. I watched "Bastard Out of Carolina" on Showtime but turned it off before the end because I knew it would ruin the joy of my new dick. I took it out and looked at it. I put it on the dresser in front of the mirror and sat on the bed and admired it. It was like a trophy I'd dreamed of winning. I put it into the harness and wore it over my jeans, turning in front of the mirror and spreading my legs, admiring the way it jutted out from my body. I thought about going out and buying a thong or sleezy black lingerie, but I didn't want Ellis to get there if I wasn't. When the phone rang, I jumped and shoved the dildo back into the bag, as if the person on the other end could see it as soon as I picked up the phone. He said, "I'm here!"

I stood at the door and watched him walk across the parking lot. He wore brown and blue striped silk pants and a flouncy Shakespearean blouse. He smiled when he saw me. I smiled too. In the room, I locked the door and he said, "Let's see it!"

I took it out of the bag. He said, "Oooh," and reached for it, but I said, "No touching. It's mine."

I put it into the harness and was working on snapping it behind my back but my hands were shaking and I kept missing the snap. Ellis asked, "Do you need help?" I said, "You just sit tight, babycheeks." I was embarrassed that I couldn't get it on, so I tossed the harness on the bed and went into the bathroom. I tossed Ellis a tube of lubricant. "How's this?" I asked.

He said, "Oh, this will be fine."

Seeing that his hands were full calmed me. I took the lube from him and brought it, along with the harness and the dildo, into the bathroom. I got the harness on easily that time. I rubbed it up with lube and watched myself in the mirror. I thought, No wonder guys like to jerk off so much. They have something to hold onto. As my hands jerked up and down on my new cock, I called, "Are you ready out there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

I came out of the bathroom and Ellis was shyly fumbling out of his pants. His shyness embarrassed me, and then the fact that he'd seen my new cock embarrassed me, and I felt like the naked one. I also felt cheated--I wasn't supposed to feel this way. I was in control. He laid down on the bed, belly-down, completely naked. I came up behind him, slowly, and kneeled on the bed, straddling his legs. I could tell by his posture that he was tense. I touched the space between his shoulder blades and he jerked a little. I backed away and got off the bed. His butt was raised in the air just a little, and the sight of that skinny little ass suddenly threw me into a fit of giggles. Not chuckles or laughter, which would have befitted a woman with a dick a little better. No, giggles. Inelegant, girly, snorty giggles. Ellis shifted and looked over his shoulder at me. "What?"

"Put your pants back on." I tossed them to him. He got dressed silently as I took off the harness. I took the dildo out of it. I was afraid I'd hurt his feelngs, so I said, "Elly, it wasn't you."

"Okay."

"Here." I held the dildo out to him. "You can play with it if you want to." He smiled, then opened his mouth suggestively, pulling the dildo toward it. I said, "Hold your horses, cowboy. That's still lubed up." I took it back to the bathroom and rinsed it off. When I came back, we sat down on the floor together with our backs against the bed. We passed the dildo back and forth and tried to outdo each other with stronger sucking or more thorough licking, as if we were sharing an ice cream cone and hellbent on getting more ice cream out of it than the other person. We kept our eyes on each other the whole time and got so dramatic that we both ended up laughing so hard we had to hold onto each other for support. The dildo lay lonely and forgotten between us.

His beauty shop hair coming down

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 23:11:43 GMT

Today my best friend who I love like the-kid-sister-I-almost-fucked-that-I-never-had told me he loves the boy he's dating. The boy he's dating is teeny and scrawny with poofy silver-dyed hair. He wears black leather and tight black pants and a dog collar. He also wears black eyeliner drawn like tear-streaked mascara down his cheeks. His smile is slow and uncertain like Ellis'.

How did two genderqueer kids end up living next door to one another in a small southern town? Maybe this alone is proof of a God.

It was October 15th the year that Ellis was 14. Like all good drag-queens-in-the-making, he loved Halloween. That year, he found this chintzy blonde bombshell wig and brought it home. He came to my house because my parents still had hopes that I would end up a lady someday and I had this huge white vanity in my bedroom. I used it as tossing grounds for my toolbox, jacket, and books. Ellis kept a stock of makeup in one of the drawers. Before he would sit down at the vanity, he carefully cleared the whole surface. Then he took out his makeup case and spread all the fingernail polishes and lipsticks and blushes out before him like a bloody rainbow. That night, he put his hair in a hairnet first and then bobby-pinned the platinum wig on. I wasn't supposed to see him until he was done, so I laid on the bed and checked out the chicks in YM. The bed was uncomfortable because that's where Ellis had relocated my toolbox and I kept hitting it with my toe when I swung my legs.

Two hours later, he proclaimed, "Ready!"

By the time I sat up on the bed, he had already turned around on the stool. He sat with his legs crossed and his wrists crossed above the knee. Gold bracelets dangled from the limp wrists and pink painted fingernails hung at his fingertips. He wore tight white pants and a glittery turquoise shirt. That blonde hair cascaded all the way to his waist.

"Well?" he asked expectantly.

"Damn," I said, "You're one fine girl."

His bright red lips spread in a slow smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Girl as fine like you deserves to be kissed for all she's worth."

"Really?" His voice rose in this hopeful, anticipatory way. It still does that. It's as if all the energy that wants to make him jitter his legs and flutter his hands goes into the arch of that question.

"Of course, really." And I kissed him then. Hard. It took him by surprise and he grabbed onto the vanity for balance. I had my hands on both sides of his face. He tasted sickeningly of mouthwash and I kept pressing my tongue around inside his mouth searching for the way he really tasted. I held him against me and pulled him to the bed. He was already taller than me, but he was completely limp against me. His throat fluttered with little whimpers. I was on top of him, pressing my hands underneath his shirt and running them over his nonexistant breasts. The toolbox clattered to the floor. I felt his penis jabbing against my crotch and I was jealous, so I squeezed it. He said my name. Protest, entreaty, I still don't know.

But I remember getting up and swiping the back of my hand over my face to get the lipstick off. I remember feeling disgusted. Here was this pretty boy who wanted to be a girl and also wanted to be fucked by a man. I was 16 and wasn't allowed into the sex toy shops, even if there had been one in our hometown. I had no credit card and parental controls on the internet, so I didn't have my dick yet. The best I could have offered him were my fingers, whose only experience was with car engines and the gaping wound between my own legs.

That summer, he convinced some prick with a real penis to fuck him. And after that, it took him two years before he was willing to have sex again.