Response about dating and disclosure |
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Reader Debra notes:
I got the feeling reading ”A Rock and a Hard Place” that the author, Devon, was reading my mail, except for her take on trannie chasers.
I transitioned well, albeit later in life, and I’ve been in this game long enough to have been around the block a couple of times. Not only do I almost never get clocked, I compete favorably on appearance with attractive GGs half my age.
I wish I could be optimistic for Devon - and for all of us. I wish I too could find that elusive creature – her man who is intelligent, understanding, and rugged, yet gentle, who is secure in who he is and his concept of my femaleness has been established so firmly and completely as to be unshakable.
I may actually have met Him once. I asked him point-blank if, when he looked at me, he saw anything other than a woman. He answered “No” to which I rejoined, “Good answer.” He wanted to marry me but I demurred, perhaps because I wasn’t ready to accept that any real man could actually believe what he was telling me. My loss.
But given the current climate, by which I mean a social landscape that is still just learning about us, I don’t think we’re there yet. Devon’s (and my) ideal man would almost have to grow up with adolescent and maybe even pre-pubescent t-girls whose unshakable female presentation would dispel from his boyish consciousnesses of any idea that we’re anything but normal girls, albeit with just a teensy difference that in the larger context is inconsequential when it comes life and love. I think that time is fast approaching but not soon enough for me or any t-girl who’s already past her teens.
Back to trannie chasers. Yes, they are largely a sorry lot but not entirely. They fact that they do have a thing for us is not necessarily a detractor. I’d rather regard it as something I can turn to my advantage. You know – the lemons/lemonade thing. If that’s the hook that makes me special to them I won’t say “no” automatically. Lots of couples in failing marriages go to counselors who encourage them to try to find something to revitalize their flagging libidos for each other. With the appropriate trannie chasers that’s already a given—and it may be a solid long-term proposition. A smart woman knows what to do with something like that.
In my experience, most trannie chasers consciously or sub-consciously are ts wannabes but they’re not all necessarily sickos. Some are gay men in denial. A lot are looking for someone who will accept them as cross-dressers. I suppose the list of reasons goes on. Each t-girl must decide for herself whether and to what extent she can tolerate someone with one or more of these predilections.
Some trannie chasers really are attracted to us because of our overpowering sense of ourselves as females. Are these men really trannie chasers? They’re what we want but as someone said, you can’t always get what you want. With time their numbers will swell, I know it. Until then, I can tolerate the occasional flaw in an otherwise desirable man. I have no problem with a man trying to get into my panties, just as long as he’s not trying to get into my lingerie drawer. God knows I don’t come without my flaws.Even the occasional closet case needn’t be discarded. History is replete with examples of solid marriages that defy the conventional wisdom. Many may be marriages of convenience but some are noteworthy for the true affection between unlikely couples, e.g., where one spouse is gay.
One noteworthy example involves Margaret Whiting, the daughter of composer Richard Whiting and herself an highly popular female vocalist during the forties and fifties. She’s also a very self-confident and perhaps even daring woman. When she was fifty-five and three-times married and divorced she met male porn star Jack Wrangler, who was then thirty-three and performing a one-man erotic stage show in Greenwich Village. During an argument in a restaurant, Wrangler shouted at her, “I’m trying to tell you I’m a f-----g faggot!” Margaret replied famously, “Only around the edges, dear.”
After dating for five years they moved in together, marrying thirteen years after that. That was twelve years ago, and by all accounts they’re still going strong.
Perhaps I’m more accommodating because I’m older. I didn’t want to die as a man and I don’t have the luxury of time to pick and chose while I wait for the ideal man to knock on my door and ring my chimes. Labels don’t matter to me, not anymore. Love does.