Dear lord, what a weekend. And oh, shit, its only 11am on Sunday. Id do well to watch my back.
So it starts around 9 on Friday evening with T showing up at my house. T and I dated in high schoolit was a boarding school and we spent most afternoons lying in Ts bed and listening to AM radio. It was a fairly serious relationshipwe imagined children and cats called Franny and Zooey and where we would live (the Park Hyatt overlooking Water Tower square.) Then T broke up with me and ran off to New Orleans to fuck this girl whod also graduated with us.
The small thing of it is, when we were in high school T was called M. M was a lesbian and I was a sweet young bi thing who was overpoweringly attracted to her and her dyke-ness. The sex, as high school sex goes, was good, if one-sided. She let me go down on her exactly once, and seemed to enjoy it, but apparently not enough to let it happen again.
The news came four years later. L, my college girlfriend who also knows M (long story, not important), and I were driving to the new Barnes and Noble for Sunday morning coffee and scones and fashion magazines. Ls phone rang just as we were about to pull into the parking lot. Its M, she said.
Huh. Wonder what she wants.
Hello? A pause. She says she has big news, L told me.
Tell her if shes having a sex change Im never speaking to her again, I joked.
Well, as it turns out, M wasnt quite ready to have her breasts lopped off and her drivers license changed, but she was taking testosterone and trying to decide on a new name. I was pretty much floored. My relationship with M since high school had been rocky at best. Over the last year our contact had been almost exclusively through L. I had friends in my little lesbian clique who had exes that were thinking about transitioning; we usually got a good chuckle out of it, and occasionally got political, wondering whether it our queerness would be challenged if it turned out that all our ex-girlfriends were actually boys. I think a part of me knew, was in fact painfully aware, that M was going to reach this conclusion herself, that I was pretty much just biding my time until she decided to come out.
All this happened a little over a year ago. In the months since, M chose his new name, T. Ive seen T twiceonce, over Valentines Day (2003) dinner at a shopping mall outside Washington, DC (T and his gf were in town for a FTM conference; L and I were just taking a romantic weekend. We all figured we might as well rendezvous, if only for a couple hours, if only to be polite) and then again in August when I was in New York and visited him and the gf and their two dogs in their tiny Alphabet City apartment.
We kept up a decent email correspondence, and when invitations to our 5-year high school reunion arrived, we promised to be one anothers dates.
As such, I return to the present. T arrived at my apartment around 9 on Friday night. The plan for the night was to put in an appearance at an unofficial, day before the reunion, get together, then move along to a lesbian drag king party in Boys Town, where we would meet up with A and N, members of my girl gang. I mainly wanted to show N, who I used to date, off to T. (N is really fucking hot. T conceded.) So we hopped on the el, rode down to Lincoln Park and went looking for the bar. Found it eventually (I had the address wrong by a hundred, but were smart kids), paid the $15 that promised us unlimited draft beer and well drinks, and tiptoed to the back where we were told wed find our ex-classmates.
Thank the gods I was immediately attacked by a girl Id been great friends with (we were on the bowling team togethermostly an excuse to get off campus three days a week) but completely lost track of. Turns out she now lives about two block from the bar; we traded numbers and told each other we hadnt changed at all. Meanwhile, T was talking to some guy friends hed had. They took the news like pros, although he did have to explain more than once that he still peed sitting down and probably always will.
After talking to my bowling friend for a few minutes and downing two vodka cranberries I was ready to move on, but T insisted we talk to more people. Now, heres the thingeveryone Ive talked to who already went through this five year reunion thing insists that you end up having long, fascinating conversations with people you never would have spoken to, not in a million years. I was sort of excited by this prospect. Turns out it was a big, fat, lie. Maybe its the fact that I havent made jack shit of my lifeyeah, I graduated from college, but I dont have a job to speak of and my most distant plan involves visiting friends in Virginia at the end of Augustbut I didnt really feel the need to engage myself with these people who, as far as I could tell, were exactly the same as they were the day they graduated, with the exception of the fact that a lot more of them smoke cigarettes now. Ha! I was on top of that trend from day one . To the few people I was forced into conversation with I said I was writing a book. This pretty much shut them up, and if pressed about publishers and research and the like, I claimed I was still putting my proposal together. None of this is a lie, per se, but it was certainly embellished to compete with things like Im trading options, or Im moving out to Cambridge in the fall to start my Ph.D.
We finally managed our departure and decided to walk the 12 blocks to the nightclub. About two blocks in T said that he wanted to tell me, before I get too drunk and you dont believe me that sex with me was in a dead heat for the best hes ever had. I nodded my head and said Uh-huh. T is like this always.
Four blocks on he attacked me with his lips. He has the same moves he had in high school, which involve nuzzling his head down into my neck and then spinning me until Im pressed up against the wall of the Marshalls. We made out for a few seconds, both feeling self-conscious about being that annoying straight couple hanging out in the gay neighborhood. T insisted that around here everyone would just think he was really butch, anyway, but when some a girl from Howard Brown asked us if we needed free condoms I was less than convinced. We did get a good laugh out of that, thoughright gender, wrong genitalia. We took the condom, of course.
There were plenty of yummy girls at the club, and it took us a couple minutes to track down A and N. We found them at the back corner of the dance floor. Hugs all around. Isnt she hot? I whispered to T.
Yeah, Id do her, he said. I grinned.
T ran off to the bathroom and to get drinks. He brought me back a Heineken and proceeded to stick his hands everywhichwhere they didnt belong. Now, people who do this in straight clubs make me want to puke or punch someone or leave, but finally having a chance to show off in front of the Chicago dyke crowd pleased me, even if it was with someone who no longer identifies as one.
Of course this pissed N off to no endthe poor thing, if only shed treated me better that could have been us. So she stormed off not long after, dragging A along, and T and I were left to drink more, me trying to dance and him grabbing and not letting me go.
We stumbled out around 1:30so early!caught a train and wandered back to mine. Sleeping arrangements are irrelevant, and I will leave you at this for now. I need to put deodorant on and go get ready for the parade. The adventures of Saturday will come later, perhaps tonight. Happy Pride, everyone!
So it starts around 9 on Friday evening with T showing up at my house. T and I dated in high schoolit was a boarding school and we spent most afternoons lying in Ts bed and listening to AM radio. It was a fairly serious relationshipwe imagined children and cats called Franny and Zooey and where we would live (the Park Hyatt overlooking Water Tower square.) Then T broke up with me and ran off to New Orleans to fuck this girl whod also graduated with us.
The small thing of it is, when we were in high school T was called M. M was a lesbian and I was a sweet young bi thing who was overpoweringly attracted to her and her dyke-ness. The sex, as high school sex goes, was good, if one-sided. She let me go down on her exactly once, and seemed to enjoy it, but apparently not enough to let it happen again.
The news came four years later. L, my college girlfriend who also knows M (long story, not important), and I were driving to the new Barnes and Noble for Sunday morning coffee and scones and fashion magazines. Ls phone rang just as we were about to pull into the parking lot. Its M, she said.
Huh. Wonder what she wants.
Hello? A pause. She says she has big news, L told me.
Tell her if shes having a sex change Im never speaking to her again, I joked.
Well, as it turns out, M wasnt quite ready to have her breasts lopped off and her drivers license changed, but she was taking testosterone and trying to decide on a new name. I was pretty much floored. My relationship with M since high school had been rocky at best. Over the last year our contact had been almost exclusively through L. I had friends in my little lesbian clique who had exes that were thinking about transitioning; we usually got a good chuckle out of it, and occasionally got political, wondering whether it our queerness would be challenged if it turned out that all our ex-girlfriends were actually boys. I think a part of me knew, was in fact painfully aware, that M was going to reach this conclusion herself, that I was pretty much just biding my time until she decided to come out.
All this happened a little over a year ago. In the months since, M chose his new name, T. Ive seen T twiceonce, over Valentines Day (2003) dinner at a shopping mall outside Washington, DC (T and his gf were in town for a FTM conference; L and I were just taking a romantic weekend. We all figured we might as well rendezvous, if only for a couple hours, if only to be polite) and then again in August when I was in New York and visited him and the gf and their two dogs in their tiny Alphabet City apartment.
We kept up a decent email correspondence, and when invitations to our 5-year high school reunion arrived, we promised to be one anothers dates.
As such, I return to the present. T arrived at my apartment around 9 on Friday night. The plan for the night was to put in an appearance at an unofficial, day before the reunion, get together, then move along to a lesbian drag king party in Boys Town, where we would meet up with A and N, members of my girl gang. I mainly wanted to show N, who I used to date, off to T. (N is really fucking hot. T conceded.) So we hopped on the el, rode down to Lincoln Park and went looking for the bar. Found it eventually (I had the address wrong by a hundred, but were smart kids), paid the $15 that promised us unlimited draft beer and well drinks, and tiptoed to the back where we were told wed find our ex-classmates.
Thank the gods I was immediately attacked by a girl Id been great friends with (we were on the bowling team togethermostly an excuse to get off campus three days a week) but completely lost track of. Turns out she now lives about two block from the bar; we traded numbers and told each other we hadnt changed at all. Meanwhile, T was talking to some guy friends hed had. They took the news like pros, although he did have to explain more than once that he still peed sitting down and probably always will.
After talking to my bowling friend for a few minutes and downing two vodka cranberries I was ready to move on, but T insisted we talk to more people. Now, heres the thingeveryone Ive talked to who already went through this five year reunion thing insists that you end up having long, fascinating conversations with people you never would have spoken to, not in a million years. I was sort of excited by this prospect. Turns out it was a big, fat, lie. Maybe its the fact that I havent made jack shit of my lifeyeah, I graduated from college, but I dont have a job to speak of and my most distant plan involves visiting friends in Virginia at the end of Augustbut I didnt really feel the need to engage myself with these people who, as far as I could tell, were exactly the same as they were the day they graduated, with the exception of the fact that a lot more of them smoke cigarettes now. Ha! I was on top of that trend from day one . To the few people I was forced into conversation with I said I was writing a book. This pretty much shut them up, and if pressed about publishers and research and the like, I claimed I was still putting my proposal together. None of this is a lie, per se, but it was certainly embellished to compete with things like Im trading options, or Im moving out to Cambridge in the fall to start my Ph.D.
We finally managed our departure and decided to walk the 12 blocks to the nightclub. About two blocks in T said that he wanted to tell me, before I get too drunk and you dont believe me that sex with me was in a dead heat for the best hes ever had. I nodded my head and said Uh-huh. T is like this always.
Four blocks on he attacked me with his lips. He has the same moves he had in high school, which involve nuzzling his head down into my neck and then spinning me until Im pressed up against the wall of the Marshalls. We made out for a few seconds, both feeling self-conscious about being that annoying straight couple hanging out in the gay neighborhood. T insisted that around here everyone would just think he was really butch, anyway, but when some a girl from Howard Brown asked us if we needed free condoms I was less than convinced. We did get a good laugh out of that, thoughright gender, wrong genitalia. We took the condom, of course.
There were plenty of yummy girls at the club, and it took us a couple minutes to track down A and N. We found them at the back corner of the dance floor. Hugs all around. Isnt she hot? I whispered to T.
Yeah, Id do her, he said. I grinned.
T ran off to the bathroom and to get drinks. He brought me back a Heineken and proceeded to stick his hands everywhichwhere they didnt belong. Now, people who do this in straight clubs make me want to puke or punch someone or leave, but finally having a chance to show off in front of the Chicago dyke crowd pleased me, even if it was with someone who no longer identifies as one.
Of course this pissed N off to no endthe poor thing, if only shed treated me better that could have been us. So she stormed off not long after, dragging A along, and T and I were left to drink more, me trying to dance and him grabbing and not letting me go.
We stumbled out around 1:30so early!caught a train and wandered back to mine. Sleeping arrangements are irrelevant, and I will leave you at this for now. I need to put deodorant on and go get ready for the parade. The adventures of Saturday will come later, perhaps tonight. Happy Pride, everyone!
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
haught \Haught\, a. High; elevated; hence, haughty; proud. [Obs.] --Shak.
hmm *smacks her ass*