by Неизвестный
The first time that I ever went out in public dressed as a woman was when I was twenty-one. I came home from college for Easter weekend while the rest of my family was away on a trip. I shaved off the silly-looking beard I had grown over the semester. I put on my sister’s black cotton knit dress. It had long sleeves so no one could see my arm hair and I wore opaque tights to hide my leg hair. I’m sure I put way too much makeup on my face and way too much product in my hair but nobody seemed to care because it was the ’80s. I drove to a mall about an hour away from my parents’ house so I wouldn’t run into anyone who knew me. As I approached the entrance, an older man held the door open for me and called me “sweetie,” and I felt flattered and insulted at the same time but mostly I was just amazed to be getting away with it. After walking around the mall for about ten minutes, I realized I was hungry and hadn’t eaten all morning so I drove to a Burger King for a shake and fries. The woman at the drive-thru window said, “Thank you, ma’am,” as she handed me my change and receipt. I can’t begin to tell you how beautiful those three simple words sounded.
The first time I told someone that I cross-dressed was when I was twenty-three. He was a friend of a friend and we were hanging out at a party. Out of the blue, he told me he was bisexual and he thought I was cute. I told him that I wasn’t into boys but I did like dressing up as a girl. We talked about it all for a couple of hours. When I woke up the following morning, I practically died of embarrassment.
The first time I kissed a boy was when I was twenty-four. It happened in the Bronx. I was coming to terms with my submissive fantasies and met a dominant guy through a personal ad he had placed in the Village Voice. In my fantasies I was always female but I was afraid to go to his place cross-dressed, so instead I went in drab (tranny talk for “dressed as a boy”). When I got there, he was dressed head-to-toe in leather and reeked of patchouli. His stereo was blasting Depeche Mode, which seemed really cliché. He tied me to his bed, blindfolded me and began kissing and groping me. It was extra-weird because he had a moustache and I kept imagining that his mouth was some strange combination of a porcupine and a leech. It wasn’t a lot of fun. I’m sure he didn’t enjoy himself much either, what with me being a confused and inexperienced bottom who just sort of lay there doing nothing. Afterward, we both talked about our favorite Woody Allen films. I never saw him again.
The first time I had sex with someone while in femme mode was when I was twenty-eight. She was a bisexual friend who I dated on and off for a bit. First we went to the SF MoMA to see a Frida Kahlo exhibit. Then we went back to her place and shared a bottle of wine. We kissed. She fondled my foam breast through my shirt and told me how much she missed being with a woman. She lent me some clothes that were less dorky than the ones I had on, and she took it upon herself to redo my makeup and hair. She made me look way better than I did earlier that day. We left her house to go to the Chameleon, a local dive bar. She laughed when the Latino boys in her neighborhood made the snake sounds at me. We had a few beers and talked.
It was like two girls talking, she even said so. We both cried at one point. I’m not exactly sure why but in retrospect I think it was because we both realized how sad it was that I had to keep this part of me hidden most of the time. Afterward we went back to her place and had sloppy sex. She wanted me to penetrate her but I couldn’t keep it up. How could I after all of that? The next morning, I woke up and realized I didn’t bring any boy clothes along because I wasn’t planning on spending the night. She lent me a pair of her pants and a hockey jersey to wear on the return trip to my apartment. She was a lot bigger than me so when I put on the shirt it felt like I was wearing a tent. I seemed so small. I can’t remember ever feeling less like a boy than I did sitting on the BART train wearing that hockey jersey.
I met Dani, who would eventually become my wife, when I was thirty. We shared lots of firsts together. She was the first dyke activist that I ever dated, the first person I ever moved in with, the first person I shared a checking account with. We even merged our CD collections. She was the first person to take me with a strap-on dildo, the first to give me a purely anal orgasm, the first person who truly understood how to make love to my physically male body while relating to me as a woman. Dani was by my side the day I first called myself “queer” and the day I first dared to refer to myself as “transgendered.” She was the first and only person I ever asked to marry me. On a rainy night, during the brief period when we were calling each other “fiancée,” the two of us were lying in our bed. I told her I was thinking about transitioning. We held hands and talked about it through the night. In the morning she took me out to breakfast by Lake Merritt. She made me laugh. Somehow she made the scariest day of my life really, really beautiful.
The first time I took female hormones was when I was thirty-three. It was the day after our honeymoon. I washed the pills down with water, then sat on the balcony of our apartment waiting for the buzz to hit.
The first time I had a female orgasm was about two months after that. I was masturbating, and for the first time in my life the stroke just wasn’t doing it. I just needed. . .more. So I grabbed Dani’s Hitachi Magic Wand. A few years back I had tried out her vibrators but they were way too much stimulation for my male orgasm. But now, after two months of being on female hormones, I could place her vibrator directly onto the tip of my penis and… wow! Suddenly I found myself writhing for ten or fifteen minutes straight, in a sexual state at least twenty times more intense than any boy orgasm I had ever had. I decided right there and then I was never going back.
The first day I lived as a woman was a day that Dani and I had planned to celebrate. On our honeymoon, she bought an expensive bottle of wine for us to share on that special occasion. However, some firsts don’t happen in a very clear-cut fashion. There was no first day of being female for me. Instead, I just gradually changed over a five-month period and before I knew it, strangers were referring to me as “she” even though I was still dressing in drab. We ended up drinking that bottle of wine on our wedding anniversary instead.
Some people have asked if I will become a virgin again when I eventually have bottom surgery. You know, a vaginal virgin of sorts. I just laugh. The whole idea of virginity is utterly ridiculous, as if every person’s life can be divided up neatly into an innocent childlike half and the impure adult half. People who believe this must have excruciatingly boring and simplistic sex lives.
For me, there have been many first times and each has given me a rare opportunity to see myself a bit differently. My life has no singular defining point because each first time is dependent upon all of the other ones that came previously. And while having surgery may mark the end of my physical transition to female, I don’t see my sexual evolution as reaching some sort of conclusion. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there will always be more first times to look forward to in my future.
Holy Fuck: The Fourth-and-Long Virgin
Jon Pressick
It all started at one press conference. Amongst a throng of journalists, one voice rang out. One voice asked a seemingly out of place question. One voice asked Tim Tebow if he was a virgin. And when he said, “Yes,” a monster was let loose. Or rather, a monster remains confined.
The mythic status of Tebow’s lack of sex is as legendary as his football career. Yes, he’s a virgin. Yes, he has strong religious convictions and he wants to wait for the “right woman.” Really, there isn’t that much to the story. Same as his actual career. Yes, he’s a football player. Yes, he’s waiting for the perfect marriage of potential and skill. But Tim Tebow is a professional athlete and that just isn’t the way pro ball players are supposed to act. They’re supposed to be pro ballers! In recent times we have Shawn Kemp, basketball player and father to seven children with six different women. We have Tiger Woods with his cross-country exploits and affinity for diner waitresses. They got to where they are (the beds, hotels, backseats of the nation) because they are allowed—and encouraged—to. Their sta
ture as athletes affords them this sexual stature.
But of course, all athletes looking to score must admire the legendary dedication to his craft that Wilt “The Stilt” Chamberlain demonstrated over the course of his illustrious career. And the man had time to play basketball too! The estimate is that Chamberlain had over twenty thousand sexual partners in his lifetime. When he gets to it, Tebow is going to have a lot of catching up to do. But the thing is, he doesn’t want to go for that gold. He wants one woman. He wants to be in love. He wants a life partner. And for this he is reviled and mocked in mainstream media.
The accepted norm for athletes—male athletes—is that they are to be unstoppable on the field of play and in playing the field. They are to be virile, masculine and ready to fuck anything that moves. Athletes are adored and respected for their bodies, and how they use them. Their inflated strength, endurance and testosterone are supposed to carry over from their sporting activity to the rest of their lives. They conquer. They vanquish. The ancient Greeks would sculpt rock into beautiful art to reflect the admiration of athletic bodies. Now young children hang posters on their walls of their favorite players.
But this is not all projection from the outside in. Athletes do not just become sexual gods because we tell them to. In his essay “The Myth of the Sexual Athlete,” Dr. Don Sabo argues much of the bravado and confidence needed to become high scorers is learned by young athletes in dressing rooms with their peers.1 As boys learn to compete against other boys in sporting arenas, they also learn to compete in sexual matters. Locker room talk is the norm and sharing details of getting-in-her-pants escapades is expected. So, according to Sabo, this can lead to men growing up detached from the idea of sexual and emotional commitment. Without that feeling, it becomes far easier to see why so many athletes live by the Five Finger Rule (any port in a storm). It would seem that Tim Tebow must have been too busy listening to hymns or sermons or Christian rock on his iPod to catch this part of team bonding.
Much has been said of Tebow’s strong religious beliefs and usually it is Tebow himself doing the talking. Here’s where the issue with mainstream culture comes into play. If Tebow were just a football player leading a quiet, pious life, not getting any and happy that way, no one would care. But when you paint Bible verses on your face and talk about your faith all the bloody time, people perk up and take notice. Sure, he’s trying to continue his family’s life of missionary work, but his talking about his lonely jockstrap rubs people the wrong way.
Funny thing is, Tebow is no trailblazer. Heard of A.C. Green? He is predominantly remembered as a supporting member of those dominant Los Angeles Lakers teams of the 1980s. He got around and played for a few other teams before winding down his career and retiring in 2001. He won three championships and holds the record for most consecutive games played. He was also a vocal virgin throughout his entire career.
In a 1998 essay in Ebony2, the deeply religious Green revealed that teammates tried to tempt him, but he always refused. Instead he tried to convince them of the dangers of their ways. He also railed against the promiscuous culture in the NBA:I tell my colleagues and teammates all the time that they are playing with fire. They don’t realize how stupid it is because to them it’s fun, it’s daring, it is like living on the edge. And when you live on the edge, you want to be near the fire. But like mama said, when you play with fire, you might get burned. These guys have so much to lose. It’s crazy to me to put yourself in that position. There might be a few virgins in the NBA. But overall, the guys are sort of reckless and their behavior reflects the attitude, “Hey, I can do anything and everything and not worry about responsibility and accountability.” That’s their attitude.
Sometimes in the locker room, I’m like a voice of reason. I don’t want to hear about what happened last night, and the guys have enough respect for me and know what I stand for that they don’t even bring that stuff to me. But more than anything I try to get them to understand that you’ve got to think about what you’re doing—instead of just thinking that every lady out there is a road trip. That’s the type of mentality sometimes—“just because I go from city to city and play this game, I can play women too.” Sometimes they think women are just like that—a game or a piece of meat.3
Green got married in 2002, after his playing days ended.
Will the same good fortune happen for Tim Tebow? If it takes his entire career, will he be able to hold out for Mrs. Right instead of Ms. Right Now?
That is the big question now that he’s off to play in New York City. If he actually were inconspicuous, then maybe he’d be able to get by better. But he’s the missionary who never stops proselytizing. And he’s heading to the city that never sleeps, where the denizens want to know who celebrities are sleeping with.
Not that we haven’t been wondering who makes Tebow’s jock itch already. He is a very pretty man. He’s got the body; he’s got the looks. Combine those factors with a fervent Christian belief and he must be gay, right? Okay, so those ideas don’t really seem to go together, but more and more rumors are flying that Tim Tebow is actually a deeply closeted, self-loathing queer. Seems a stretch, but the pervasive idea is that other deeply religious Christian zealots (Ted Haggard, John Paulk) were actually canoodling with cock while maintaining firm antigay stances. Flamer flames were certainly fueled by the Tim and Tom Brady Manhunt Mobile parody ad. And despite his strong Christian convictions (including appearing in an antiabortion ad run during the Super Bowl), Tebow has not come out with any definitive statements about the LGBT community.
So, could he be? There is strong sentiment that if Tebow ever does do a backfield rush out of the closet, he could be a tremendous bridge-building figure. Maybe he could get the Christians and the gays together. Maybe he could be the common ground. He would certainly be one of the most high-profile Christians to embrace his queer identity. Hell, he’d probably do better with them than he would the rest of his NFL fraternity.
When it comes to tackling Tim Tebow though, no one is more interested in getting Tim’s pants down than Noel Biderman, but the CEO of AshleyMadison.com, the world’s premier dating site for people who want to cheat on their partners, isn’t interested in Tebow in a gay way. No, he’s taken things to a whole new level by putting a bounty on Tebow’s virginity. With an offer of one million dollars on the table, Biderman is looking for anyone who can provide proof that Tebow is not a virgin after all. Or anymore. A statement from the website affirms the notion that sports and sex are synonymous: “Sports and sex (and of course, infidelity) go hand in hand. If Mr. Tebow is indeed abstaining from adult relationships, I would encourage him to find a nice lady or two and enjoy his youth and fame as much as possible.”4 Just imagine what would happen if he were to claim that check.
So it looks like everyone else is looking to get Tim Tebow laid…except Tim Tebow. Why doesn’t he fit into our neat little box for athletes? Why don’t we let him live his life in virginal peace? When did remaining a virgin become unnatural? Should Tim listen to Noel Biderman and the queer community, hunker down and lay some pipe—whichever line is available?
No. He should keep on doing what he’s doing. So much work, so much activism, so many lives have gone into creating sex-positive culture that we cannot undo all of that by being hypocrites. And telling Tim Tebow he shouldn’t be a virgin, he shouldn’t wait until marriage, and he shouldn’t have religious beliefs creates a sex-negative situation for him. Nobody is telling him to fuck because he wants to and it feels nice. No, Tim Tebow is being told to fuck because he’s supposed to want that. In doing so, we’re giving everyone the right to tell other people “You shouldn’t be a slut,” “You shouldn’t have sex before marriage,” “You should wait for the right person.” Granted, it would be great if Tebow would keep his mouth as still as his penis is. However, he needs to be respected as a sexual man who has beliefs. And when that lucky person comes along for Tim Tebow, here’s hoping she or he has a strong defense, because he’s going to be coming with a H
ail Mary.
Notes
1 D. Sabo. (1999). “The Myth of the Sexual Athlete.” Reprinted in Estelle Disch, editor, Reconstructing Gender: A Multicultural Anthology (London: Mayfield Publishing Company, 2002).
2 A.C. Green “Male virgin NBA star A.C. Green tells ‘Why I have refused sex’”. Ebony. FindArticles.com. 03 May, 2012.
3 Ibid.
4 Ashley Madison, (2012). Untitled [Press release]. Retrieved from http://news.ashleymadison.com/2012/04/24/news/sports/ashley-madison-puts-1-million-bounty-on-tim-tebows-virginity.
Baby Talk
Rachel Kramer Bussel
“I want to be a good boy for my mommy,” said the man. He was in his forties, and he was naked in bed with me. I guess this wasn’t your typical second date.
It wasn’t the first time the M word had been mentioned in our dirty talk, either. But when it came up on the phone, I could just laugh it off or pretend I hadn’t heard him. Not this time. Now, it was real. He wanted me to pretend to be his mommy—his naughty, flirtatious, sexy mommy. Even for a professional sex writer like me, with nineteen years of adventures behind her, “age play” was out there.
A subset of the catchall term BDSM, age play is defined by the Center for Sexual Pleasure and Health as “sexual role-playing where one partner pretends to be older and in control while the other pretends to be much younger.” This could mean fantasizing about being siblings, or teacher and student. According to The Toybag Guide to Age Play by Lee Harrington, the most popular form is parent-child. People like it for all sorts of reasons: the taboo factor; to be silly, to give up control, to explore an inner identity, to enjoy “never having to grow up.” I’d heard of it, but it definitely didn’t sound like my thing.