Trannydykey

Twas pride night and the gender queers

Did dance and frolic on parade.

All oiled’ were the leather men

Their pillow biters  splayed.

Beware the tranny dyke, my girl.

The boobs that choke, the dick that strikes,

Beware the lipstick lez, and shun

the furious diesel dykes.

She took her jellied toy in hand

Long time the TG foe she sought.

So rested she in no man’s land,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in Sapphic thought she stood,

The Trannydyke, with eyes aflame,
came sniffing through the girly bar,

dub-stepping as it came!

One-two, one-two and through and through

Her plastic dong went sploosh and splat.

The Trannydyke lunged on to strike 

and feeling poked fell flat.

And, hast thou fucked the Trannydyke?

Come my pillow princess girl.

O gold star day, Callooh!  Callay!

and let your legs unfurl.

Twas pride night and the gender queers

Did dance and frolic on parade.

All oiled’ were the leather men

Their pillow biters  splayed.

James' Monologue

This is James' monologue from the first act of "Standard Deviations"  This is a good description of my mental state just before I decided to transition.  I was so distraught at the time that I had even chosen the day I was going to "shuffle off that mortal coil." 

To whom it may concern.  I’ve written this letter countless times before and I have no doubt that I will write it again.  I’ll never actually act on it because I’m a complete coward.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to kill myself.  I’ve thought about suicide at least once a day since I was in High School.  Granted, most days it’s like “well, you could always kill yourself.  That’s true.  I could.  Next slide please.”  But it’s always there.  It has been my one constant companion for thirty years.   I’ve been in and out of therapy my entire adult life.  Most therapists don’t have a clue about transsexuals, and some of them are actually afraid of me when I tell them what I’m sad about.  I told one psychiatrist and she said she wanted to hear more but when I actually started talking about it, I noticed her making little protection gestures to distance herself from me. That made me feel so good about myself.  If the shrinks do suggest a treatment, it’s always pills.  I’ve taken every anti-depressant known to science.  They help for a while, but they don’t really touch what’s wrong.  I’m broken. When I look in the mirror I hate that man who looks back at me.  He’s ugly.  He’s a loser. And he smells bad.  I don’t dress up much anymore.  Not like I used to when I was little.  When I was a kid, I could make myself look like a girl.  I could look pretty good.  Now I just look stupid and it just makes me hate myself even more.  And every year my body just gets older and more male.  And I feel further and further from any hope of happiness.  I try to tell myself it’s not a problem any longer, but I’m lying.  I know that deep down I really want to be a ….crap, I can’t even say it out loud any more.

Delyla's Monologue

Delyla's monologue from "Standard Deviations."  Every time I read this, I am torn a new one, as D was fond of saying.

Delyla: You want to tell them the rest?

Jimmye: What do you mean?

Delyla: Like, for example, why you have been telling this whole story in past tense? 

Jimmye: I was hoping to avoid that.

Delyla: Then let me tell it.  I met James when I was thirty two years old.  I had long since given up hope that I would ever find someone to settle down with.  But then James showed up.  He was smart.  He was funny.  And he was …cute.  How could I not fall in love with him?  And he’s right…I mean, she’s right.  She did tell me about herself.  She said that she was a woman inside and that when we made love, I was making love to a woman.  I didn’t think anything of it.  I thought it was a silly little game she liked to play.  Believe me, some of my other boyfriends had fantasies that were much worse.  This one seemed innocuous.  So I played along.  And when it was Jimmye who proposed to me, I said, “Well, thank you for that, but I’m going to have to wait to see how James feels about this.  I’ll get back to you.” 

Our marriage was glorious.  After twenty years we still held hands and kissed each other…in public.  We were the epitome of PDA.  All of our friends kept looking at us as models of how things should be.   They said we gave them hope that two people could actually stay in love.  For twenty years, “Jamesanddelyla” was one word.  In those rare times that we were ever apart, we would call each other at least three times a day just to say, “I love you.”    You know that aging couple that made kids run away saying, “Ewww!  Old people are kissing?”   That was us.  It was one of our rituals.  We had so many rituals.  You remember in that movie Ghosts where Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore kept saying “ditto?”  We did that.  We did that before that movie came out.  One would say, “I want to go out for dinner tonight” and the other would say, “ditto.”  One would say, “you’re gorgeous” and the other would say, “ditto.”  One would say, “I love you” and the other would just say, “ditto.”   I loved that ritual. 

When James first came to me and told me that he just couldn’t live as a man anymore, I didn’t know what to think.  He couldn’t possibly be serious.  Why was he taking the game this far?  I only agreed to let him “transition” because I loved him and I knew he was very unhappy.  I thought he would come out of it just like he had always come out of his depressions before.  But he didn’t this time.  He started taking those damned pills and just became more and more female.  And the more feminine he became, the more frightened I got.  Why was this happening?  What had I done to make my James want to leave me like this?  It was like I was watching my husband kill himself slowly.  And I fought for James…because I knew that nobody else would.   I shouted and cursed at that bitch that was taking him away from me.   But it didn’t do any good.  She won.  I know this is the same person I married, but inside I can’t help feeling that this woman killed my husband.  I miss James.

(Delyla starts to exit but pauses when Jimmye speaks.)

Jimmye: Losing your love was the greatest tragedy of my life.

Delyla: (stopping and momentarily facing front)  Ditto.  (She exits.  After a pause to accentuate that she is really gone, spotlight goes down. )

Letter to www.pretendbians.com

Good…Let the hate flow through you.  

How dare you use the Labrys, the most holy and sacred Amazon symbol, as window dressing for your vitriol and hatred?   You are certainly no Amazon.   When we are faced with oppression, we confront our enemies face on.   We don’t turn on our own.  We don’t bite our own hands.   Trans-lesbians are nothing more than genetically (and in many cases vaginally) challenged lesbians.    Your diatribe against women born with physical defectives (and they would be the first to admit it) is the moral equivalent of throwing rocks at a cripple and saying,   “Eww. You’re not like me.  Get away .”

The message of this site is explicitly that trans-women are not real women, but you imply further that trans-women are men who pretend to be women in order to have sex with lesbians.  Really?  Do you honestly think that any man would go through horrendous pain, lose their careers and everything they love (let alone giving up their precious penises) just to be able to invade your personal space?

I agree that only women can be lesbians, but you, my dear, are not a real woman.   You might have the right equipment…you might be female… but being a woman has little to do with what body bumps you may or may not have.  I have known trans-women who are much better at being a woman than you.   A real woman doesn’t respond to haters by seeking out a completely different group -- one that never did her any harm -- to hate.  All this talk of excluding this group and that group and that  whole “them-and-us” mentality…that’s the way men talk.   Women are not about exclusion. 

You rail against those that call you a bully yet you feel that trans-women and trans-lesbians are beneath you.  Can’t you see that attacking and ostracizing your inferiors makes you a bully…by definition?

I am a Zon and I am proud of that.   We don’t need bullies trying to represent us or co-opting our faith in the Goddess to spread bigotry.  

 

If you don’t want to have sex with a trans-woman, then don’t.  Frankly, I don’t want to either.  I don’t dislike them;  they just aren’t in my love map.  But that doesn’t mean I am not going to embrace those less fortunate than me and say, “I am so sorry that life has fucked you over.  Yes, you are my sister.  And I will stand with you against anyone who says you aren’t.”