“Hey listen, as a lesbian I am as open as the next person is about LGBTQ stuff. I have no problems with transgendered girls. But I told you, I am lesbian. I like women.”
“I am a woman,” I said, but already my head was swimming.
“No. You’re a man who wants to pretend you’re a woman,” she said and the tears came again. “You know I am a woman, how can you say that?” I asked. I had thought that a woman, especially my friend, a lesbian, would understand where I was coming from. But she didn’t. If she couldn’t accept me, then who could? Dave was right, I was absolutely repulsive.
“Listen, that was meaner than I meant it to be. We are still friends. And I am not going to say anything to anyone,” she explained. Good, another reluctant secret keeper, “But that is all. I am sorry.” She said. Not sorry for her behavior or lack of compassion. Sorry I had a dick. I got up quickly from the table.
“Omar,” I said, barely able to make my voice heard. The owner/bartender looked over at me, “I quit.” I said. And I ran out the door, and I never saw Rita again.
If only I had quit. Sure, I’d quit the job. But I hadn’t quite given up on the idea of having a loving sexual relationship. I didn’t know at the time that there were worse things than simple humiliation. I hated myself over Dave and Rita for another year or so. The same disgusts and fears as before crept into my brain, only this time they were confirmed. There was no doubt anymore. But I kept thinking that maybe there was someone out there for me, someone who, if given the time and effort, would understand me. I didn’t think it would happen soon, but I thought it was possible.
And I met another guy and it felt a little more than possible. He told me he was a devout Christian and didn’t want to have sex before marriage. I thought he was cute and sweet. We kissed a lot, held hands. I kept my secret. It seemed like that was what everyone wanted me to do. One night we went out drinking together and had a good time. We went back to his place and we started fooling around. Our inhibitions dropped, he didn’t care so much about his vow to God and I didn’t want to think about the devil between my legs. Over twenty years of sexual frustration was bound up inside of me. I thought that dating someone for six months would mean that he loved me. I threw myself onto the mercy of passion.
Black eyes. Broken bones. A long stay in the hospital. The trial. A sentencing hearing (thankfully I guess). Being outed in front of an entire community. Transferring to a different college to finish my studies. I don’t really want to get into the finer details of how that relationship ended. Suffice it to say, I learned my lesson. There is only so many time that the universe can tell you that you have to build walls before you just do it. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be vulnerable again. I would build an emotional barrier around myself and go out into the world.
When I first got out of (my second) college and got my current job, I thought it would be easy. My first wall was just avoidance. It was more of a picket fence really, not as stern and hard as a wall. I just got to work a little early so I was at my desk before the little morning conversations occurred, I stayed at work all day and avoided lunch engagements, then I went home. I acted like I was shy, but I was polite. I figured that eventually people would get the hint: I am not a social person. It was a lie, but that way I wouldn’t have to interact with people. I knew myself. If I got to know people at work I would become friends with them, I would be attracted to some of them, and I would want to pursue a romantic relationship with a couple of them. There was no way around it other than to cut everyone out entirely.
Except I learned two things within the first year of working at my current job. The first was that when you are a pretty girl, everyone wants to save you from being shy. They will come up to you and offer to take you to lunch. You can blush and shake your head but they find it endearing. They promise they don’t bite. You shake your head and say “no thank you.” And they say that it is going to be a big group, no pressure or anything. And it goes on like that. And I think that sort of brings us back to where we started. Shy Rose disappeared and unholy bitch Rose made her appearance. It took everything I had and was totally against my nature to lash out at people. But it was the only thing that kept people away and protected me from my urge to interact with people.
However, I learned another thing about myself. I could bark at people who didn’t deserve it, I could turn down dinner and lunch offers even when I desperately wanted to accept, and I could go home to my apartment by myself and find some small amount of comfort by myself. But I couldn’t completely shut down my libido.
It seemed to be cyclical. I would repress any thoughts or feelings regarding sex. I would do anything to avoid even thinking about it. I took up knitting, I did puzzles, I read. But all the while images in my mind would start growing more and more graphic. I would feel myself getting flush, even at work. I would squirm uneasily in my seat at work. I would then start with watching porn. But as I did so, I would feel waves of anxiety and shame, leaving me completely unable to pleasure myself. But that would make me watch more. Finally, I would completely lose control of myself and do something crazy, something I was ashamed of.