Becoming a Man… NOT!
By: Ginger Mcmurray
Tags: Childhood, LGBTQ, Autobiography, Gender Identity, Transgender

Self esteem, exit stage left

From Fitness Got Me

My rough years at a hyper macho hispanic middle school gave way to a great Summer. It ended, as all Summers do, and I moved to a trailer park in Forest Park, TX with my mom. It’s not as hillbilly redneck as it sounds. :)

I’d never tried dating girls. Guys were out of the question. I was way too shy and withdrawn to make the first move, and way too nerdy for them to.

Ever since I was little I got along with girls better than boys.

Being friends with them worked very well. Unfortunately, the friendships always crumbled as soon as I said or did anything. My first such experience was at Charles Baxter Junior High School in Everman, TX.

Thin and tall, Jennifer was my idea of beauty. Her long hair flowed in the wind when we walked from my trailer to hers or vice versa. She’d come over to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I’d go over after school to hang out, listen to music, and help her with homework. Usually we’d do that in her room, a place that filled me with nervousness and hope.

Not that anything ever came of it. I’ve never been able to tell when someone likes me as more than just a friend unless they come right out and say it.

One semi-brave day I decided to tell her I “liked her” liked her. I say “semi-brave” because I didn’t have the courage to do it face to face. Instead I slipped a note into her locker. That was the end of things. No fanfare. No real explanations. We drifted apart, but we both knew what had happened.

Meanwhile back at our double-wide my young mind was enjoying the new home. My mother had gotten remarried to a man named Alvon. He was an artist, a good one. Though we had three bedrooms, I slept on the couch. The third room was devoted to a studio.

Well… to him it was a studio. To me it was an illicit paradise. There were copies of Playboy and Penthouse scattered about. Also Jugs, Hustler, and other less reputable fare. Ostensibly they were for “research.” It was a burgeoning teen’s heaven.

I couldn’t begin to tell you how many hours I spent in the bathroom next to his studio. I’ll leave figuring out why as an exercise for the reader. Mostly I stuck to the standard bits: naked chicks with naked guys doing naked adult things.

Not always. In the backs of the sleazier ones were ads for phone sex lines, toy manufacturer’s, and even “sexy penpals.” The ones that grabbed my attention the most?

Shemales

Yes, it’s a derogatory term. It was the only word they used, so it was the only one I knew. Regardless of the political correctness (or lack of it), they amazed me.

Here were these women who had once been men. Their gorgeous hourglass figures were hypnotizing. They managed to encompass all of the things I was attracted to in men and women, which was exhilarating.

They also spoke to me on a deeper level. One that I was afraid to listen to.

It was the start of a lifelong problem: sublimating gender with sexuality.

I had another set of friends, all guys, all gamers. Tony was a super cool guy with beautiful golden hair and awesome taste in music. Mark was a lot like me: curly hair and thick glasses. We wandered the nearby forest, played Battletech and D&D, and watched Saturday Night Live. What we didn’t do was talk about anything real.

Then came Jesse.

I also gamed with him, but we connected on a deeper level. He lived with his grandparents, who were super cool. His grandfather would let us ride in the back of his truck on the way to the comic book / game store. His grandmother always had a sweet smile and sweet treats.

I was head over heels “in fatuation.” He was handsome and the ladies loved him. He could talk to them with confidence in a way I never could.

Once we went to Wet and Wild (the local water park). He got the numbers of a couple of sexy twins and I got their less-than-sexy friend’s.

He’d go on to date both of them, making me jealous of them and him. I’d go on to have another school yard sexual encounter like I’d had years before. She had horrible hygiene “down there” and we didn’t stay together long. It didn’t help that she lived an hour away and I’m not the best phone-talker.

Long story short: her mustache tickled when we kissed and her initials were PMS (no joke).

Of course, I could never tell Jesse how I felt. Jennifer had taught me that emotions end friendships. Society had taught me that feelings for guys were ridiculed at best, punished at worst.

I stayed over at his house a lot, sleeping in his room and wishing he’d notice me on his own.

It wasn’t all sad pining for the unattainable. It wasn’t even mostly that. We had a lot of genuine fun. As always, there were parts of my sexuality and gender that I’d never dare to share. That still left plenty of room to talk about more than games, girls, and cartoons.

Looking back now, I’m glad it never went beyond that. If anything had happened he’d probably just be another in a long line of personal and emotional failures. Instead we’re still friends, though it’s all on Facebook because he lives several states away. The feelings of my youth have faded, but not the thankfulness I have for him being such a good friend.