When shit happens, let shifts happen

IRA BOHM-SANCHEZ

With tears in his eyes, he looked at me and asked, “Ira, if you like boys and girls, why would you get a sex change?” I explained that who you are and who you like are two different things and that, as a gay man, he should understand how that also plays out in his life. Truth is, I didn’t always like girls, boys, the people in between, and the people beyond. Growing up, I thought men were just plain gross. My uncle would sit me on his lap and say, “Dame un beso, por favor.” I’d reply, “No, your face is prickly, and it makes my face itch.”

As I got older, I felt the same way about men romantically, without realizing that men and women have all kinds of bodies. Fast forward to the age of 19, YouTube in full screen mode acted as my night light when I stayed up for days watching trans man after trans man discuss his experience on testosterone. The amount of information overwhelmed me while I tried to figure out what route would be best for me. I thought to myself, “Well, I really want the muscle gain, but I also really don’t want all of the body hair.” Unfortunately, hormones work less like fast food joints and more like strict parents in that “you get what you get, and you don’t make a fit.”

Puberty can act as an uncomfortable catalyst for maturation, emotionally and physically. As I did my research, young men all over the globe voiced their concerns about a variety of changes they didn’t expect to experience. There is a fear in some trans male circles that testosterone increases the likelihood that one will be gay. I assumed that this was simply impossible since I used to subscribe to the idea that gay folks are born gay and stay gay, forever. I’ve been on testosterone for over three years now, and I accurately describe myself as a queen. Not because I consider myself female, but femme.

I am now in a relationship with a cisgender, feminine woman who is arguably more masculine than I am in a variety of her behaviors, and I have to deal with being a queer boy in a seemingly hetero relationship. Navigating this space is sometimes awkward, but I simply tell myself this: Sometimes, when shit happens, I need to let shifts happen.

Accepting my newfound interest in men after spending a lifetime receiving persecution for my interest in women was only difficult for my pride. People tend to assume that all trans* people consider themselves gay before coming out as trans* or that all trans* people were more androgynous before coming out. I was extremely feminine, and I fought hard to gain respect as a feminine lesbian in school and with my friends. Admitting I was more interested in men since starting testosterone felt like I betrayed part of my history as a person. I didn’t know how to reconcile that. In some ways, I still don’t, but I do know that I was queer before and after coming out. Really, not much has changed.

My friend and I sat in a booth together when a young woman approached us exclaiming, “Gay boys! Yay!” I take this as a compliment, since it usually happens when I am dressed fabulously. On the other hand, it’s sometimes frustrating. It took effort to accept that I’m still queer, and now that I finally have, people assume that I am only gay. That was, at least, until I met the woman I am currently with.

I asked her out on a date after having had a long conversation at the bar. She bought my beer, so I offered to buy her a movie ticket. We agreed to meet up on a Saturday afternoon, and when that day finally arrived, I had no idea what to wear. Was my outfit too masculine or not masculine enough? What does a masculine outfit that’s stylish even look like? After having gone through about 12 articles of clothing, I settled on an outfit, and head out for our first date. As we watched the movie, she rested her head on my chest. It seems silly to say publicly, but I felt so grown up in that moment. I felt like a man, not a boy, and it was nice to feel that way.

After a while, I noticed that, even though I saw the world the same as I always had, it didn’t necessarily see me the same way. Sometimes, when people think you’re queer, they’ll react negatively. Sometimes, however, if they’re also queer, they may give you a nod, a smirk, or some other form of recognition. These nods and smirks aren’t exactly pivotal moments in my day, but when I realized that they occur much less now that I’m seen as straight when she and I are together, it reminded me of being a young, invisible lesbian. I may be dating a woman, but I am tired of being invisible.

My favorite part of being with a woman is being a fag while doing it. We hold hands, cuddle, and kiss in public, but I don’t censor my behavior in any way. I don’t try to man up or figure out what “manning up” really is. While she’s the one with long hair and lipstick, I’m the one who sits on her lap and is the little spoon. While I can’t spot other queer folks as easily, I sure as hell can confuse the straight folks around me, which is just as entertaining. We go to gay bars and clubs together. She’s seen me dance with guys, and I show her photos of the people I flirt with. Some gay men would say she’s my hag. Maybe she is, and maybe she’s my lezbro. At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter what our identities become as long as they continue to resonate with the souls they’re meant to represent.