{"id":891,"date":"2020-12-06T16:11:46","date_gmt":"2020-12-06T20:11:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/?page_id=891"},"modified":"2021-12-01T16:16:09","modified_gmt":"2021-12-01T20:16:09","slug":"youre-such-a-man","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/creative-nonfiction-archive\/youre-such-a-man\/","title":{"rendered":"You’re Such a Man"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Summer Carneval 8<\/em> by Jim Ross<\/p><\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\r\n\r\n

You’re Such a Man<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\r\n

Will Richardson<\/p>\r\n

Husband, January-March 2019<\/strong><\/p>\r\n

We sat in front of my open computer, knee to knee, in an Airbnb in Barcelona. My therapist, Shane, looked at us from the grainy video on the screen. I was on the verge of tears, and my husband\u2019s and my hands rested together on his knee.<\/p>\r\n

Two months before, when I texted Jason that I need<\/i> testosterone to be me, I had asked him to process it and take his time to answer. I hadn\u2019<\/span>t expected a response for days. Weeks, even. After all, it had taken me 37 years to even figure out I\u2019<\/span>m not a woman, another year to admit to myself that I\u2019<\/span>m a guy, and another year after that to accept that I needed<\/i> hormone therapy. That I needed to transition more than I\u2019<\/span>d ever needed anything.<\/p>\r\n

I texted<\/i> this life-changing bit of information because we lived on separate continents: I, in Baltimore, he, in East Africa. Tanzania had been our home together for 10 years. I had left only after realizing how awful the closet was for my mental health. He stayed, knowing how awful living in the US was for his<\/i> mental health. But we stayed together, 19 years-of-marriage strong, and tried to make it work.<\/p>\r\n

When I sent him that text, I was prepared for him to take his time. He responded within minutes. With his own life-changing text, Jason drew his line in the sand.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>T is still where I get off the bus.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

The speed of his response and the banality of the metaphor hurt me almost as much as the answer itself.<\/p>\r\n

The next day, I thought about suicide. That full bottle of Tylenol would do it<\/i>.<\/p>\r\n

Jason and I hadn\u2019<\/span>t truly opened up to each other in the month before Barcelona. Sure, we talked via text and co-parented across continents for our son in boarding school, thousands of miles from both of us. But we hadn\u2019<\/span>t touched the hard stuff, the most life-altering knowledge that had overwhelmed me, and us, for the past couple years. The last email exchange before Barcelona was February 5, 2019, a year to the day after I admitted to myself that I am a guy. I had finally gathered the courage to speak my truth, to meet his line in the sand with my own: Yes, I will start testosterone, even if it means the end of our marriage.<\/i> It was heart wrenching.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

But I hoped, oh, I hoped so dearly that it would not have to mean the end. I hoped that he could adjust, that he\u2019<\/span>d find that attraction is more than what you see. That love is greater than body parts. Didn\u2019<\/span>t our 20 years of loving each other, growing together, building our lives together, mean enough to try to preserve it?\u00a0 <\/span>We had met in college, married a year later, left the Mormon church together, moved to East Africa together, supported each other through grad school and our first real jobs, and raised our child. Did that mean nothing? How can he be so sure<\/i> that he wouldn\u2019<\/span>t be attracted to me on testosterone? How could he know that, without giving it a try?<\/p>\r\n

His answer to that email had been, I need to process this; let<\/i>\u2019<\/span>s discuss in person<\/i>, when we meet in Spain in March.<\/p>\r\n

I arrived in the Madrid airport before he did and waited for him at the airport train station so we could travel to Barcelona together. He\u2019<\/span>d flown in from Tanzania, and I from Baltimore, where I had been for six months. He landed, and we began texting to locate each other. Finally, I spotted him approaching through a sparse crowd and smiled in relief. It\u2019<\/span>d been two months since I last saw him.<\/p>\r\n

I watched him scanning the crowd, looking for me. His eyes landed on me, and my heart leapt, my smile grew bigger. But his eyes kept scanning. My smile faded as I realized he had looked directly at me, but he hadn\u2019<\/span>t seen<\/i> me. He hadn\u2019<\/span>t recognized me. He turned back to his phone with a frustrated look, texting me again to say he couldn\u2019<\/span>t find me.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Oh, hey, there you are,\u201d he said as I approached. We didn\u2019<\/span>t hug.<\/p>\r\n

\u201cYou looked right at me,\u201d I said with an amusement that masked my pain and grabbed one of his bags.<\/p>\r\n

We had agreed to have the Talk with my therapist as a facilitator on video chat. Because both of us were more comfortable with avoidance, we wanted the accountability of having a set time to force ourselves into having the conversation neither of us wanted to have. While we waited, he worked on his laptop, and I went for a walk on Montjuic, pondering what exactly I would say.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

Jason had been supportive of my social and legal transition and had adopted my new name and\u00a0pronouns, my new identity. When I came out as not-a-woman, he had said, \u201c<\/span>I always knew you weren\u2019<\/span>t the most feminine of people, but I\u2019<\/span>ve always thought you\u2019<\/span>re hot. And I like the tomboy version of you.\u201d The day I came out as a man, he said, \u201c<\/span>I don\u2019<\/span>t care how you identify; I love you<\/i>.\u201d But the thought of me starting testosterone and getting top surgery to masculinize my chest completely mystified him; it was just too far. As I waited to cross a street on the top of Montjuic, I imagined myself getting that first injection of testosterone. Immediately, my heart swelled, and I cried tears of joy. I was glad for the sunglasses hiding my emotions as I crossed the street in a small crowd.<\/p>\r\n

I knew. I knew<\/i> that starting testosterone would be one of the happiest days of my life. It would be in the top three most significant things to happen to me, along with marrying Jason, and having our son. It knocked leaving the Mormon church, which had been number three for 14 years, down to number four.<\/p>\r\n

On the video call, holding Jason\u2019<\/span>s hand, in tears, I described to him that moment of clarity, of knowing<\/i>. Watching his eyes, I saw him finally get it. I explained how I hoped he could go on this journey with me, explore this new path, see where it takes us. Then it was his turn. He explained that as much as he wishes he were bi, he\u2019<\/span>s just not. That path was taking me somewhere he could not go. Still baffled that he could know<\/i> that already, without having tried, I turned to the screen. Shane, my therapist, indicated he had a question for Jason.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Has your attraction to him already changed?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\r\n

My heart felt joy when Shane referred to me as \u201c<\/span>him,\u201d and my memory flashed to Jason saying he was attracted to the tomboy version of me. I realized I assumed that meant this<\/i> version: visibly queer, asymmetrical haircut, bound chest, loose clothing.<\/p>\r\n

Jason answered gently, \u201c<\/span>Actually, yeah. I am already less attracted.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

Now it was my turn to finally get it; the lightbulb above my head popped on with a ding! Here was the key missing information\u2014he knew he wouldn\u2019<\/span>t be attracted to me on testosterone or post-top surgery because he was already<\/i> unattracted to me in my pre-T androgyny. I had already<\/i> transitioned from tomboy to man.<\/p>\r\n

The rest of the therapy session was about lovingly letting each other go. The marriage was over. Afterward, emotionally exhausted, we both lay down in bed\u2014two separate, single beds. Now I began to cry in earnest and asked him to snuggle. He welcomed me over to his bed, and we held each other and cried.<\/p>\r\n

After an hour, I got up and emailed my doctor to schedule the appointment for my first injection, one week later. She\u2019<\/span>d been expecting it for months.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

Fling, March-May 2019<\/b><\/p>\r\n

I had kept my crush on Sam so well under wraps that they had no clue about it until the night I hugged them for the first time. In our months-long friendship, I had always avoided hugging them because I knew it would spark a fire, though I told myself it was because we weren\u2019<\/span>t the hugging type. Determined as I had been to save my marriage, I hadn\u2019<\/span>t even told them\u2014my best friend\u2014that I recently realized I am queer. Nor that it was them<\/i> that made me realize this.<\/p>\r\n

Home from Spain a few days, suddenly single, freshly out, testosterone pumping through my body for one whole day, the two of us went out to my first Queer Crush dance party at a local bar. My big queer debut. Ostensibly there as their wingman, I dropped increasingly obvious hints throughout the night as the alcohol emboldened me. A hand on their back as I asked if they wanted another round. An arm over the back of their chair as I leaned into them and pointedly asked, \u201c<\/span>Are you sure there\u2019<\/span>s no one<\/i> here tonight you want to flirt with?\u201d They turned to me, and we locked eyes before they timidly turned away.<\/p>\r\n

On the dance floor, I purposely kept several feet away from them, fighting my desire. When a cute 20-something woman started dancing with me and asked to friend me on Facebook, I could only feel Sam\u2019<\/span>s eyes on me, and wondered what they were thinking.<\/p>\r\n

We chatted on the walk back, several blocks through the deserted city streets at 2am. On the street corner where our paths home split, I made the decision to pull them in for a goodbye hug. What started as a hug quickly turned into kissing and ended with us making out on my couch.<\/p>\r\n

They were my first queer everything.<\/p>\r\n

With a lot of on-again, off-again, we-should-oh-we-shouldn\u2019<\/span>t back and forth, we\u2019<\/span>d tried dating, but that wasn\u2019<\/span>t working, and we called it off. Back to just best friends. Now, we\u2019<\/span>d managed to go a whole month without any shenanigans. One night, Sam and I sat on my couch, talking as friends and trying to resist this mutual desire. We started on opposite ends of the couch, but slowly crept closer to each other. Perhaps I reached out my arm to rest on their shoulder. Perhaps I then caressed their cheek. Whatever it was that night, something overtook us, and we began kissing again, properly making out. They came to straddle me, then pulled away. \u201c<\/span>I don\u2019<\/span>t want to have sex tonight,\u201d they stated. \u201c<\/span>Ok!\u201d I answered, \u201c<\/span>just making out is great.\u201d We kissed again; my hand went exploring and they firmly grabbed it and moved it away but kept kissing. Suddenly, they stopped and stood up. \u201c<\/span>I just\u2014I just can\u2019<\/span>t tonight. I don\u2019<\/span>t know why. I just feel\u2014\u201d They cut themselves off. \u201c<\/span>I\u2019<\/span>m going home. Bye.\u201d And they left.<\/p>\r\n

A couple minutes later, they called me on their short walk home. \u201c<\/span>Hey, I know that was weird, but I think I figured it out and I wanted to explain,\u201d they began. \u201c<\/span>Kissing you felt like kissing a man<\/i>. And I don\u2019<\/span>t mean to insult you, because you are a man, but before\u2014it was different. Now that you\u2019<\/span>ve been on T a couple months\u2014it\u2019<\/span>s just different. You feel like a man<\/i>. And I\u2019<\/span>m not into men. I like women<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

The pain of Jason\u2019<\/span>s rejection flashed back into my body, immobilizing me. I only managed to mumble syllables: \u201c<\/span>oh,\u201d \u201cK,\u201d \u201cyeah.\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>I lay back on the couch, numb. I had lost so much to inhabit this new body, to grow into my real self, my manhood, only to be rebuffed by my first queer crush.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

Girlfriend, January-July 2020<\/b><\/p>\r\n

I pulled away from a kiss, one of our first, and Kelsi mumbled, \u201c<\/span>Ok, yep, uh-huh. Gonna have to get used to that stubble. It\u2019<\/span>s been a while since I\u2019<\/span>ve felt that. Didn\u2019<\/span>t think I\u2019<\/span>d feel that again. Okay, uh-huh.\u201d I became very conscious of shaving before our dates after that.<\/p>\r\n

She strongly identified as queer, not bisexual, because queer is radically trans-inclusive. But I was the first trans man she\u2019<\/span>d dated. Kelsi had had long-term relationships with cis men when she was younger and before coming out as queer. She had only dated women since then, though all butches.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>A non-intentional, but remarkably successful, feminist separatist,\u201d she quipped to describe her past several years.<\/p>\r\n

Once, lying in bed, she pointed out the new hairs sprouting on my chest. I proudly caressed the chest hair and touched my thigh and belly hair.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Yeah, this is definitely all new,\u201d I said with a smile.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>This is where I inject,\u201d I said, touching my belly, pondering the forest of hair there. Touching the relatively hairless spot a few inches from my belly button, I added, \u201c<\/span>I wonder if that has anything to do with it. If I inject further out, would the hair would grow here too?\u201d<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Please don\u2019<\/span>t!\u201d she blurted out.<\/p>\r\n

My head snapped up in shock to look at her face.<\/p>\r\n

She backtracked, \u201c<\/span>I\u2019<\/span>m sorry. I\u2019<\/span>m sorry. I shouldn\u2019<\/span>t have said that. I just\u2014it\u2019<\/span>s new to me. I decided I like it, the hair. I\u2019<\/span>m embracing it.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

Decided<\/i>? I thought. I changed the topic.<\/p>\r\n

Weeks into dating, she revealed she\u2019<\/span>d been talking to several of her friends about my masculinity, my maleness, and how to handle our \u201c<\/span>cross-cultural relationship.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

Why does this have to be such a big deal?<\/i> I thought.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

She avoided indicating my gender or name to her mom, letting her know she was dating someone, and letting her mom assume I was a woman. We talked for hours about how to let her mom know I\u2019<\/span>m a boy, and hours more about how to let her know I\u2019<\/span>m a trans<\/i> boy.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Just tell her,\u201d I advised. \u201c<\/span>I\u2019<\/span>m proud to be trans. I\u2019<\/span>m out as fuck. On purpose. I like people knowing.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

But no; hours of talking and planning. In the end, her mom immediately read me as AFAB\u2014assigned female at birth\u2014once she saw a picture, and had no problem using my correct pronouns. I began to realize that it was Kelsi that had the issue with my transness, my masculinity.<\/p>\r\n

My trans maleness became a third character in our relationship, hovering there in the room, ready to take the blame for any miscommunication issue, any emotional upset. Instead of seeing me<\/i>, she saw a Man. She was puzzling questions like, \u201c<\/span>How do men communicate? What do men want?\u201d rather than \u201c<\/span>How does he<\/i> communicate? What does he<\/i> want?\u201d<\/p>\r\n

In conflict, she would exclaim, \u201c<\/span>You\u2019<\/span>re such a man<\/i>!\u201d Her tone made it clear it was an insult. \u201c<\/span>How did I get to be in a boy-girl relationship, and how did I<\/i> come to be the girl?!\u201d<\/p>\r\n

Her tone also made it clear that being the girl<\/i> was problematic; in a girl-boy power dynamic, she did not want to be on bottom.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>I don\u2019<\/span>t trust men,\u201d she would remind me. \u201c<\/span>I\u2019<\/span>ve learned to not trust men. It\u2019<\/span>s just encoded in my wiring.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

Baffled, I insisted, \u201c<\/span>But I\u2019<\/span>m trans! I have a vagina! I was socialized as a woman! I\u2019<\/span>m not that<\/i> kind of man!\u201d<\/p>\r\n

She\u2014and we\u2014always blamed our issues on my maleness, the testosterone changing my brain, allegedly making me less emotionally in tune, making it harder for me to put words to my emotions and thoughts. On my best friend\u2019<\/span>s porch one day, eating take-out Thai food, Kelsi mentioned our upcoming road trip to meet her parents in another state.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Road trip?\u201d my friend inquired.<\/p>\r\n

Kelsi turned to me, realizing I hadn\u2019<\/span>t told my best friend about this big relationship milestone. Her upset, disappointed face said, \u201c<\/span>How have you not told your best friend about this<\/i>? You\u2019<\/span>re such a man<\/i>.\u201d\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Testosterone\u2019<\/span>s changed my brain,\u201d I explained later. \u201c<\/span>I just don\u2019<\/span>t feel that need to tell my friends the details like I used to.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

I shrugged it off, ignoring the warning signs that something was wrong with the relationship<\/i>, not my gender.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

Boyfriend: July-October 2020<\/b><\/p>\r\n

Arriving late to my friend Sal\u2019<\/span>s social-distanced birthday party in a park, I\u2019<\/span>d noticed him from 20 yards away, recognizing him from his Facebook profile on a local trans group. I walked up to where he and Sal were sitting and set my things down to declare my COVID-safe island, six feet from everyone. Hoping to be introduced to him, or to find the guts to introduce myself, I chickened out and crossed the circle to talk to an old friend.<\/p>\r\n

But he was the only person at the party I really wanted to talk to. Returning to my island, I was relieved when Sal waved me over, saying, \u201c<\/span>Hey, man, let me introduce you! This is Tyson.\u201d I noted this was not his Facebook name, which was gender neutral.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Tyson,\u201d I repeated, affirming his name, and smiled. I thought, probably a guy like me, then<\/i>. But I couldn\u2019<\/span>t be sure, so I asked. Cis people are sometimes afraid to ask people\u2019<\/span>s pronouns; they think it might be rude. Quite the opposite. \u201c<\/span>Hell, it\u2019<\/span>s a pickup line,\u201d I had quipped to a trans colleague just three days before, hours after breaking up with Kelsi.<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Cool. What\u2019<\/span>re your pronouns?\u201d I asked.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Within seconds, we\u2019<\/span>d found a comfortable rapport of two sociable, good-looking trans guys on T. In a mostly unconscious effort to impress him, I lifted up my shirt and flashed him my belly, showing off the hair there, declaring, \u201c<\/span>T really does its work!\u201d<\/p>\r\n

\u201c<\/span>Heeeyyy, nice! I can\u2019<\/span>t wait for the changes on T! It\u2019<\/span>s just been four weeks for me.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

I smiled, pleased. We talked the rest of the party.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

Three weeks later, on our first get-together we actually called a date, I helped him set his things down on the picnic table in the little hidden park in my neighborhood. I smiled shyly and silently signaled for a hug\u2014only our second hug since we\u2019<\/span>d met. COVID, and all. That first hug, after a long, friendly walk through town, had told us both what we needed to know: This attraction was mutual. And strong. I could no longer insist to myself that we were just \u201c<\/span>buds,\u201d pushing our bodies forward on 10-mile hikes and 20-mile bike rides, attempting to drown our chemistry in a go-go-go physicality.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Pulling him in close for that second hug, the desire overrode the intention and we only got part way there. Our faces so close, our breathing already ragged, suddenly we were kissing. Hard, deep, passionately pressing our bodies against each other, our hands grabbing at each other\u2019<\/span>s necks, backs, arms, chests, faces. Our tongues flicked and reached, soft moans and whispers of \u201c<\/span>fuck\u201d and \u201c<\/span>oh god\u201d and whimpers of each other\u2019<\/span>s names escaped us as we paused for air before going back into the fray. Taking deep breaths, our flat chests heaving at the energy, at the pull of our magnetic attraction, we pushed each other back to force ourselves to sit down and look at each other, face-to-face, for the first time since we met at the party.<\/p>\r\n

A few days after that first kiss, Tyson told me, \u201c<\/span>I love how you kiss. You kiss like a man<\/i>. Like you want it.\u201d<\/p>\r\n

My mind flashed back to Jason, Sam, and Kelsi, all rejecting me in some way for being a man. For looking like a man, for feeling like a man, for thinking like a man, where man<\/i> is a bad word. And now Tyson was praising me for it. My heart leapt in joy and gratitude at this man, who sees me as a man, and who celebrates and affirms me as a man. Man-to-man.<\/p>\r\n

Where man<\/i> is a beautiful, tender, sweet, wonderful thing to become. Together.<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"headshot<\/strong><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Will Richardson<\/strong> is a white, queer, transgender man; a dad; and a sexual and reproductive health researcher. He lives in Baltimore with his son. <\/span><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 You’re Such a Man Will Richardson Husband, January-March 2019 We sat in front of my open computer, knee to knee, in an Airbnb in Barcelona. My therapist, Shane, looked Continue Reading →<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3398,"featured_media":0,"parent":1310,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/891"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3398"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=891"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/891\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1589,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/891\/revisions\/1589"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1310"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=891"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}