*Despite his protests “no no go ahead,” I refused to publish this until Alex read it and approved it, so I didn’t violate his privacy*
For me, and I can only imagine for many other trans* men who are also androphiles, hitting puberty and becoming interested in guys was an extremely confusing time. It became clear to me as a person who was female that there were very narrow boxes of attributes that most straight cis men were interested in, especially during high school (and if you’re a FAAB androphile, straight cis men are sometimes your only dating pool). My gender identity was just one characteristic on a laundry list of personal traits that were suppressed and compartmentalized in favor of pleasing the only type of men I knew of to be interested in people who had female bodies. So I guess it comes as no surprise that when I finally started dating this guy who loved, appreciated, and respected me, I started to come out as trans*.
In high school, I met this boy, Alex. We became friends when he lent me his copy of Sim City 3000—this was in 2007 when 4 was around and Societies was just starting to be a thing, but Sim City 3000 is still the fucking shit (lol now I want to play it when I’m done writing).
I was in a relationship (with a huge douchebag), but regardless, I fell absolutely head-over-heels for this geeky, intellectual, kind, gender non-conforming person. In my entire life, I had never felt more like I *got* someone and that they got me. Thank God AIM was still popular when we became friends; we’d spend hours and hours just talking on AIM about everything. That’s how I fell in love with him. Not by going on dates or spending a lot of time with him in person, but by our intimate and intellectually stimulating conversations, in which I could be myself more than anyone had ever let me. And even though it took Alex, another person, to make me able to be myself, he gave me the wonderful gift of learning to be myself for myself. I think it shows in that in the course of our (going on) four-year relationship, we have disagreed about certain things, but he always loved me wholly, even the things he felt uncomfortable with. He never made me compartmentalize the things we disagree on the way other men I dated had. What has characterized our relationship even since our awkward AIMing days is that there was some cosmic understanding between us. When we first started dating, I wrote a poem about it in which I likened it to peering through a crystal-clear, transparent window at another person, when in every other instance, it was like an opaque, half-mirror type of thing. It was dazzling. It still is.
When I say that Alex and I have dated for almost four years, I have to qualify that by saying that in 2010, we broke up for about two months. I got cold feet and suddenly felt like I needed to run, run away from whatever it was that we had. I think the magnitude of our relationship frightened me. I think commitment frightened me. But whatsmore, I think that the honesty of our relationship frightened me, because I wasn’t out to myself as trans* man yet. I think I sensed it. I think I smelled it in the air that if I stayed with him, with this guy with whom I could be nothing else but my most honest self, I had to face up. I had to come out.
You can guess how the next part of the story goes. We got back together, and no-time later, I wrote in my journal, on June 13th, 2010, that I was a queer boy. I was listening to All Time Low’s “Damned If I Do Ya” on repeat and singing it to my mirror and I just looked at myself and I knew a queer boy stared back. If I can point to a single night that was a tipping point, that was it. That was the night I verbalized it, articulated it, typed it in a beta version of Word 2010 and clicked “save.”
When Alex and I try to come up with the moment I came out to him as a trans* man, we can’t. I’m not even sure if there was a single moment. There was just, “I’m coming over tonight dressed as a boy” and “I think we’re boyfriends” and a series of naturally-occurring events. I can’t remember the first time I said to him that I was a trans* man. Even though I wrote in my personal, private journal that I was queer boy, it feels like Alex was privy to every one of my moments of coming out to myself. So instead of me coming out to him, he was just there while I came out to myself.
And then I started to come out to other people, and all hell broke loose. For this post, I’ll focus on how it related to my relationship with Alex. First, of course, everyone told me I couldn’t be a man and love a man, which I think is just a huge punch-in-the-dick for every gay/bi/queer man on the planet, cis or trans*. Even a cis gay guy said to me once that I couldn’t really be a man if I loved men, and I was just like, “look in the mirror, buddy.” Silly MB (I was going by MB then), only lesbians become trans* men, don’t you know that? Second, turning on Alex’s identity. To this day, I can’t tell you how often people who are practically perfect strangers ask me how my boyfriend identifies! I don’t even think they realize just how RUDE that is! Does Alex being equally in love with and attracted to me before and after coming out imply that he is not 100% cookie-cutter gay or straight? Yes, it does, but frankly, some people think it’s their business when it really isn’t. People find out I’m trans* with a boyfriend and they feel the need to pry. No need to pry. I’m a trans* boy with a cis boyfriend. That’s all. No further explanation is needed. Just because I’ve made my identity your business doesn’t mean I’ve made his identity your business. And for the record, if you want to know how he identifies, he doesn’t. He doesn’t identify his sexual orientation with any of the existing labels or categories. He doesn’t feel that he has to. From someone who knows him as intimately as I do, it makes perfect sense that he wouldn’t, but other people just can’t stop gaping. We both go to the same doctor in our hometown where we met in high school, and when I came out to her, she was so accepting, asked if I was binding, knew her shit, but then she asked sweetly and innocently, “Do you think Alex is a homosexual?” OMG, the two of us still laugh out loud at our doctor’s professional and sweet voice asking that. Saying that in her voice is our inside joke about people’s messed-up perceptions of our relationship.
As a result, my coming out has been a coming out for him, too. Coming out as dating a trans* man, at least. Those of us who keep our partners through transition always must be sensitive about the fact that our partners are coming with us on this journey. It becomes a journey that belongs to the both of you. It’s welcoming to know that someone is going to cross a desert with you, go with you on the march, endure the parched mouth, the heat hallucinations alongside you. But it also means you have to find sustenance, shelter, water for both of you, instead of just enough for one. It’s a double-edged sword. You get support through your journey, but it becomes a more complicated journey. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d rather share the last drop of my canteen with him while we both pass out of heat exhaustion than cross the desert alone.
Transitioning with a partner presents its own challenges that transitioning without one doesn’t, but at the same time, those of us who keep our partners through transition are incredibly blessed and fortunate. I know a lot of relationships DON’T survive transition, and I can’t even fathom the pain of both losing a partner AND having to deal with coming out yourself at the same time. Or what it would be like for me to transition without him right there with me.
Oh God, I’m starting to cry, how emasculating (JUST KIDDING!). Alex is my best friend, my life partner, the person I’m going to marry, the person who will raise children with me. The world doesn’t understand how to fathom relationships outside of heterosexual, cisgendered norms. I find that incredibly sad, that “Alex and I love each other” isn’t enough for some people. How tragic, that traditional notions of gender rule their own ideas of relationships. I don’t know how to wrap this up neatly any other way than to say I love him so much, and I’m so glad we get to huddle in our tent together on bitter-cold desert nights.
Thank you so much for writing this. While I’m non-binary, not a trans* man, our histories have so much in common, and this was beautiful to read. It gives me hope that this kind of love will be possible for me, too :)