Over eight years ago, long before I realized I was trans, I attended a writing workshop. One of the things I wrote was this:
______________________
This came to me today, it's haunted me right up to bedtime and now it won't let me sleep, so, strange as it may sound, when I grow up...
When I grow up I want to be a Lesbian!
Any kind of Lesbian. A butch Lesbian in plaid and jeans and Doc Marten's. A lipstick Lesbian in silk and cashmere and bright pink lipstick. A punk Lesbian in black with rainbow dyed hair and tattoos. Even a secret Lesbian like your Aunt Sarah or your mother, meeting in the afternoon with your "spinster" neighbor while you're at school and dad's at work.
But for an accident of birth I could have been, you know. That same accident that causes militant feminist Lesbians to hate me.
Why would I, a middle aged, middle weight, middle height man want to be a Lesbian? Because all of the ones I have known were wise, and feisty, and loving, and caring. They were true to themselves, unconcerned with what others thought of them, and unashamed.
Or maybe all of that wasn't because they were Lesbians, maybe it's because they were people. I can be that. But that still leaves them with one thing I can't have.
Lesbians get all the best toys.
_______________________
I wrote that more than eight years ago. Isn't it wonderful that now, eight years later, I'm getting my wish?
