The Riddle of Gender - Deborah Rudacille [135]
But I was liberated. Yet I could only go so far. After school ended I worked at a camp as a junior counselor, and I used to bike down to be with her [my girlfriend] and I remember thinking, “I don’t want to do this. I want to be her.” She wanted me to take off her bra, and I’m thinking, “I want to wear it.” I just couldn’t do it. I was mortified and ashamed and didn’t know what to do. So it ended. She thought I was weird, I guess. Guys are supposed to want it. But I didn’t.
In high school, I didn’t have any sex or any girlfriends till the end of my junior year, when I met my first wife. And we hit it off. We were both traumatized kids and we helped each other, we provided succor to one another. Sex was hard for both of us. Her mother was an extreme narcissist who used to play around with her friends’ fathers and had a bad reputation and so forth. So she had a tough upbringing.
But when I was eighteen we spent the summer right after high school in Israel, my first trip to Israel and her first trip back home, and in our apartment in Jerusalem in this Orthodox Jewish neighborhood, when my three best male friends were out, she and I were in bed together and with my heart racing at around 180 beats per minute and the sweat pouring off my body, I came out to her. And she accepted me. She told me subsequently that she thought it was weird and she didn’t know what to make of it, but she was going to try to help me, try to fix me.
Q: Did you want to be fixed at that point?’
Sure, what do I know? What was I going to do, come out and have surgery? That scared the hell out of me. I knew I was transsexual, but I kept thinking, maybe I’m just a cross-dresser.
Q: And you were aware of the distinction?’
Well, it wasn’t quite the academic distinction but I thought, “Maybe this will be enough.” And she went through the stage of “Maybe, if I’m more feminine, you won’t feel like you have to be.” So we went through that phase. But she had no sense that this was a perversion that she needed to run away from, which is interesting. But it made her feel less of a woman. She felt inadequate. I felt like I was perverted. Here I am, a high school student, a pretty bright one, at one of the best public high schools in the country, and I would go to libraries and search out all the literature I could find, and there would be nothing there. I didn’t find any of Harry Benjamin’s early stuff. I didn’t even discover the trans community. This is post-Stonewall already, this is New York! And I’m a New Yorker, I’m leaving from Port Authority [bus terminal] to go to Cornell…
Finally—I think it was my sophomore year of college—I had some time to kill and I get off at Port Authority at Forty-second Street and I’m just walking around and I come across Lee Brewster’s Mardi Gras Boutique. Of course, I didn’t know what an important person this was at the time but I was like, “My god, there are other people like me.” But I was scared to death that I would be seen. That’s where I was introduced to the pornography, which was exciting and degrading simultaneously, as pornography is. But there was no alternative, nothing to say to me, “This is a medical condition.” Because it was considered a psychiatric condition. It still is now; we’re still fighting this fight. I thought I might be gay, and you know, the gays are still saying, “Why don’t you just admit that you want to have sex with a guy? Come on!” And then, after that, every time I came home, I’d make a side trip there.
Q: Did you talk to anyone?’
No, because I couldn’t be found out. Then you start thinking, “I did that. That’s me.” How do you think that makes you feel? On the one hand, you’re going to this good school, and you’re going to go to medical school and become a doctor, and on the other hand, you’re skulking around town. You get no positive reinforcement. It’s all totally negative and shame-based. Now I didn’t know that term in those days, but that’s exactly how I felt. I was living