Building Walls?

At the risk of erroneously lumping topics into one of interest. I have mentioned over the past week or so of being found by an accepting old friend. Obviously, all of that was good until I covered the subject again of not going to my 50th high school class reunion this year. My feelings have always been if they (classmates) didn't particularly want to see me then-why now? And, their are damn few I still want to see, let alone be some sort of center of attraction. For the wrong reasons.

As far as building walls, Connie wrote: "I understand the idea of distancing, and taking advantage of making a clean break. I had to move to another city just at the end of my junior year in high school. My plan was to not only leave everything and everybody behind, but also to be careful not to develop any close relationships in my new environment. It was my one and only purge, as I had also decided to break off with myself - insofar as my gender identity was concerned. 

Although my suppression of self lasted for seventeen years, my vow to avoid close relationships ended only four months later, on September 23, 1968 (I can still remember the exact place and situation, too), the day I met the girl to whom I would later be married. As it relates to my internal battle of suppression, it was the power of testosterone and social convention over my female brain to which I caved. Also, I just wanted to be loved by someone, and I could not see that happening had I been whatever I was trying so hard not to be.

I sometimes wonder where I'd be had I stuck with my original plan, but as badly as I've messed up lives of those I love over the past three decades, at least there is still some kind of love that has survived. As for the rest of the people from my past, the ones I managed to keep a safe distance from, I really don't care too much who they might think me to be today. For them, and with them, there was little investment in the first place."

Thanks again Connie for your insight!

"Jeepers-Creepers"

Every now and then I get a dose of heavy feminine reality. Friday night, Liz and I went out to eat at a slightly upscale family dining restaurant. Very rarely do I feel good about the way I look as a transgender woman, but I did Friday. Clothes, make-up, hair all seemed to be working together.

Let me say though, in no way will I ever consider myself to be a beauty queen candidate in this lifetime.

The place we went to had a small soup and salad bar which I ordered with a fish sandwich on rye. I am not Catholic, but seemingly almost everyone else in Cincinnati is and there are several good fish sandwiches available this time of year.

At any rate, I went to the soup bar for some corn chowder when out of the corner of my eye, I caught this creepy guy staring at me. I didn't think much of it and went back to sit down and eat my soup. Before my meal came, I went back to the "bar" for some salad items to eat with my sandwich and there he was again-staring.

By this time I was thinking I was his vision of loveliness or he was into trans women. Either way, I was beginning to feel more than a little creeped out. So I went back to the table and told Liz. We had a little chuckle and went on eating.

Finally, I figured he would be gone and I went back up to get some fruit for dessert, but no, he was still there and still fixated on me.

As we got up to pay our bill and leave, I noticed so did he. Plus he just happened to sit in his car until we left the restaurant.

I told Liz I had a stalker and wasn't kidding. He made me feel really uneasy as he was bigger than me and didn't seem to be all there (if you know what I mean.) Liz merely said relax we are leaving and obviously I attract only top shelf men (Haha!).

The moral or immoral to the story is, we have to learn again and again to develop a feminine sixth sense to keep us safe. No matter where we go anymore.

In the Backseat of my Ol' 63.

On FB recently, someone posted a picture of a very nice 1963 Black Chevy Impala with the comment "Have you ever sat in one of these?"

In fact, back in the day, many more than one. My Dad of all people had the nicest one I had ever seen. A Gunmetal Blue Super Sport convertible. Which by the way was off limits for my brother and I to drive.

In later years, I acquired another less impressive Impala whose back seat served as a weak drive in training ground for my teen aged girlfriends. Over the years, I wonder what the girls thought and more importantly what it would have been like to switch places with them. Along the way, I thought my awkward moves may have sent a couple of them to the lesbian side of the ledger.

Regardless a few of them allowed us to "cuddle" in the back seat, away from those pesky bucket seats and gear shift handle. Although, if the girl was sitting too close, sometimes you could be "sly" and touch a little leg when your hand "accidentally" slipped off the shift knob. I am sure through all of this the girls knew exactly what was going to happen. Although similar to a cheap adventure show, no one was sure when or what was going to happen.

My only two car claim to fame's came when I bought a 67 GTO (used) and a 63 Cadillac Hearse (used) to drive a short distance back a forth to college. Obviously, gas for both was much cheaper back in the day. The Hearse of course was some sort of a chick magnet...or the opposite. I ended up selling the GTO when I went away to the Army and blew the head gaskets out of the Hearse and junked it.

I wish I could say I had this wonderful sexual mosaic to write about, but I just don't. I think I had too much respect for women and put them too high on pedestals to think about what I was doing. Regardless of my conquests, I ended up moving on or being someone's possible best friend.

Of course it all came to an end when I had to take off three years for the Army's fun and games. At that time I made a real effort to have a clean slate and not have any "girlfriends" when I left. Looking back now, I think I was distancing myself from others because of my gender dysphoria.  The fewer people I had to tell in the future the better.

Fortunately, I have no way of even seeing or contacting those girls of so long ago. The only way would be my 50th year high school reunion this year. Which I am not going to.

We will get to why, in a later post.