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.

Teaching Myself Consent

KHARLI MANDEVILLE

One of the first times in my twenties that anyone ever asked me for consent to have sex, I was flabbergasted. I – regretfully – almost wanted to laugh. 

Two great dates and a heavy make-out session in my bed later, I was “given” the option of opting out of sex if I chose. I said yes, I want to have sex. He pulled a condom out of his pocket without my having to ask if we had protection available. It saddens me that at 25-years-old, being approached with respect by someone I was involved with sexually came as a surprise.

I moved from the suburbs of the West Valley to Central Phoenix following a split from a high school boyfriend of six years. At the impressionable dating age of 22, I was immediately thrust into college and single life. I was naïve and optimistic about the men I would encounter. Now, I’m not so sure I was ready to experience the world of casual sex with men more experienced in that capacity than me. 

My first summer as a single young woman, I worked three jobs, lived alone, and took on a full-time university class schedule. The mere idea of an official, full-time relationship with anyone was off the table. I simply did not have the time to emotionally invest in another human being. 

I spent my precious free-time with friends – getting to know people in the city. There were also bars. Lots of bars. Those first months being single were a haze of faces and sex I hardly remember. My line between consensual-casual sex and drunk-casual sex began to thin and blur. 

By the end of the summer, I found myself questioning the empowerment I felt, notching detached sex off my belt. I learned what I thought was the power of apathy in dating very quickly during this time. No one can hurt you if you don’t care about their feelings or actions toward you, right? 

I discovered this wasn’t the case when I awoke to a partner having sex with me during my sleep. 

I realized being led by the hand out of the bar toward sex was no way to maximize my power over my sexuality. Thankfully, my parents taught me to demand respect and of the value of sex positivity, no matter the circumstance, all throughout my life, so I was quickly able to deem his actions unacceptable. I recognized that I was not in control, and what I desperately, and rightfully, craved was power over my body.  I had to be able to make the conscious decision to say yes, or no with a worthy partner if I chose to really utilize that power. 

That experience, among a few key others during my early twenties, was just one symbol of what is truly wrong with the discussion of sex and consent in our society. I hadn’t said no, but I also hadn’t said yes. Silence is not consent. Ever. Period.  

A respectful partner, casual or otherwise, cares about the before, during and after emotional and physical consequences of sexual intimacy. 

It doesn’t matter where, how, when, why, or with whom anyone has sex. What matters in sex is an equal and respected power dynamic between partners. Following that experience, I now demand my every sexual encounter to encompass these values and my right to my sexuality. I demand it for myself, and I demand it for all. 

Here's To Your Entitlement

HEATHER MAHER

“No, I don’t want to see you tomorrow!” came the screech from your mouth, as you slammed the door of my Subaru — with impressive force, I might add. “I wanted to hang out tonight!” I smiled at myself in the rearview mirror as I realized my predictions of your extreme levels of entitlement were true.  We had had sex a few times a few months ago and now you finally expressed your inability to accept that I simply didn’t care to have sex with you again. To you, sex is something women owe you, something you deserve to have because of how slick and cunning and handsome and rich you are. Until I came into your life, you were always successful in your conquests. Consent, in its full meaning, was nothing on which you were ever inclined to teach yourself. I ask myself now, how much of that notion is a conscious decision, and how much is simply what you’ve been taught by a society that does not hold such values or respect in sexual relationships.

As a child and as a teenager there were never conversations in my religious household about the issues of consensual sex. Did your parents talk about it with you? Other than warnings about not letting anyone touch my private parts, and to tell a trusted adult if someone ever did violate my body, sex was simply something I was not going to experience until marriage. The general consensus from discussions with my friends who hail from a variety of backgrounds is that their families rarely talked to them about consent or sex positivity. I found this to be especially true with boys.

Perhaps your problem is that mainstream media teaches impossible standards of acceptability when it comes to sexual intimacy. Women in particular are expected to “put out” while still maintaining a virginal image.  We’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t. Even when we express that we don’t want to continue a sexual relationship, those wishes are often ignored. Why would you think that ignoring those wishes leads to any real legal consequence? Because most of the time, there are none. 

According to the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, 54 percent of sexual assaults are not reported to the police and 97 percent of rapists will never spend a day in jail. Even in publicized trials about photo documented sexual assault, the survivors are still questioned about the validity of the incident and are blamed for their trauma because they were drunk or dressed “slutty”. Where is the public discussion about what it means to have consensual sex every step of the way in every sexual situation? 

Practicing good consent means asking if it’s okay to touch your partner, asking if its alright to keep moving forward toward intercourse, being observant of their physical reaction to you and taking the time to pause and asking if what you are doing feels good and if they want it to continue. No one owes you any part of his or her body at any time, for any reason. Consent is respecting that just because someone had sex with you before, does not mean that they are obligated to have sex with you again. They can say yes today and no tomorrow. 

Consent is about respecting another person’s body and caring for their emotional well being. 

It is acknowledging that physical intimacy with another is a privilege that we get to partake in together as humans.

I may never know exactly what was going through your head that day you pitched a fit outside of my car. I don’t care enough about you to bother finding out. What I do care about is the next woman you have the honor of fucking. I care about how you approach her, how you talk to her, and how much respect you show her. Who you have sex with doesn’t matter. When you have sex doesn’t matter. Where and why you have sex doesn’t really matter either. What matters, is that you understand you are not entitled to anything from her. I didn’t get to slam a door in your face, but I hope you get my point.