Anonymous Guest Post: It’s Pride! Humans Welcome (Down For Transitioning Gender–Be Back Soon)

13439242_1203192973026996_7334949515940193058_nI have an anonymous guest post on my blog today, talking about Pride and being transgender in a community that doesn’t always embrace the “T” in LGBTQ+.


IT’S PRIDE! HUMANS WELCOME (Down for transitioning gender, be back soon)

I have always been the black sheep of the family—the black sheep at work; the black sheep among friends—however it was cool all those times. What I didn’t expect was to feel like the black sheep at the LGBT Pride Parade. A black sheep with leprosy.

Seems unfathomable, right? I mean, it Pride Parade, where everyone and every type is welcome. Here the colors bend to however you choose to express them. So how come I’m walking down the strip feeling like a leper? Maybe it was the group of gay men who laughed and pointed out how my binder was showing. Wow, how did I miss that? I mean, it flesh-colored. So it should have been as invisible as Harry Potter’s cape of invisibility. That would have been one of the coolest things I might have said, but there was something happening I wasn’t aware of yet and I was feeling vulnerable. So instead I gave a more lethargically response, “Big deal, so you can see my band-aid,” and kept walking.

Was it the next gaggle of young people that made me feel rejected? How the teeny waist girls in their short shorts and bikini tops laughed and pointed. A nudge to their counter-part boyfriends who clapped their hands over their mouths as they joined in the snickering. I kept un unsure if it was my non-invisible bindings that peeked out from under my muscle tank or the well-groomed, black goatee I was sporting.

I reached the end of the strip and displays of rainbow flags so I did a 180 and sent myself right back into that valley of hell. One girl came up to complement my hair but did a double step back and a big OH when I turned around to say thanks and her eyes landed on the manscaped chin.

I stopped at the local LGBT Youth Center, which happened to be on the same street. It was being used as a bat cave for the FTM. Unconsciously possibly. I found about a dozen of them hanging, hiding rather, inside the center. I don’t think any one of them was old enough to drink. They didn’t even notice me as I slipped back out.

At this point even the slightest odd glance my way with anything but a smile felt like sand paper. About half way back down the strip I ended up heading back to my truck to take the binder off. Not because of them, but because it was new and starting to hurt really bad. But not before running into the same group of rude boys one more time and one had to make a new flippant comment so I would hear as they passed: that I will never cut it as a guy and I should just give it up.

This stuck with me as I suffered my way back to my truck. No, I don’t pass a guy because I was born without my penis appendage. I am transitioning, but I don’t pass as someone who has been on T forever because I haven’t been. For some, I may never pass until I have had every flipping surgery there was because of my race and culture. It felt like there was some unspoken rule that if you are transitioning you need to stay in your closet and don’t come out until we can’t tell you apart. I also didn’t pass for a lesbian (or dyke either). Their faces said as much when I passed them too. No, instead, I was more like the bearded chic with a big neon flesh colored binder on to hide his tits.

I turned the corner escaped the crowd and reached my truck. Relief. Freedom, with a less crushing sports bra but not before I had bruised my diaphragm some. Still, I could breathe again. And I loathed this body all the more for it.

I returned to the parade route with hours still to go. I found a tree to keep me company and I watched the crowds slowly pour in, including the increase of freely expressed bending of rainbows and ways to wear them. I noted how they came in groups.

—Clusters of women who like women. They often slowed to chat with other groups of like-minded/bodied girls.

—There were the straights. They too seemed to come in big groups or broken convoys. The straight girls taking advantage of the liberties to wear the least amount of clothes possible to turn their straight (or bi or curios) male companions on.

—There were the families, coming in as their own tribe and staked out how spots along the bike rack route.

—The gay men came in smaller groups. 2s, 3s, rarely over 4. And many of them walked by as if the entire get up was solely for them, this was their red carpet.

— A number of queer, queens, drags, transgender girls (male-to-female), and cross-dressers. They were easy to spot–they were the social butterflies that waves and smiled and complimented everyone along that way.

I never saw anyone who was recognizably transitioning.  A few of the ladies of the Isle of Lesbos may have had a compression vest on under their black t-shirts, but no signs of testosterone therapy.

But was I really the only FTM there? Not at all. I mean I couldn’t possibly be, there were still the six or so hiding in the youth center, but any one else was either transitioned to a point they were passing and couldn’t be picked out of the crowd, or they hadn’t started hormone treatment and weren’t sporting a dead giveaway goatee as I was.

I got tired of people watching and decided to walk around again. Another walk through the valley of death. Nothing bad this time, but I felt separated. Like a ghost unseen. My invisible Harry Potter binder was finally in functioning order (back out at the truck). Now I was just half of nothing, instead of half of a transitioning Frankenstein.

I stopped in a bakery and bought a brownie to compensate for a much needed hug. They didn’t have milk. Such blasphemers. I sat down to nibble and was visited by the resident dog. A man came out from the back and must have said or asked the counter-lady something. She told him “He bought a brownie.” The guy (apparently the owner) leaned into her and said, “SHE. That is a SHE.” The woman looked at me then to him, “Are you sure?” He didn’t even look my way. “SHE!” Then he turned and disappeared into the back again.

I put my deflated hug in my pocket and left.

I went back to the tree and tried my best not to cry. What sucked most was I was alone. Everyone else had come with friends, partners, whole tribes of back up while I stayed in the grass alone. It wasn’t all for not trying. Which knowing what effort I had gone to seemed to make this feel far worse than it should have. I had run an add for several weeks on Craigslist and even a post for the local prides Facebook group.

Gay Transmale looking for friends to hang out with at the Pride Parade.  It sucks going places alone and parade are best with friends. Even new ones. You can be any gender, age or sexuality. I’m only looking for people to hang out with. Not looking for a hook up.

I got all kinds of offers for a ‘gay’ hook up, completely dismissing the transguy part and the ‘not a hook up’. Straight guys answered apparently only looked at my non-passing photo and where looking for a chick hook up. I got a couple of offers to suck my dick NSA (no strings attached). If only. But once corrected I was born-female-transitioning-to-male, I may as well said I was a leper. All talks were dropped. No one wanted to go with me anymore.

It feels the same now that I am here, making me realize I had shown up with open wounds ready for salting.

The girl groups looked at me and summed me up in a matter of seconds and turned to look the other way. (Honestly I wouldn’t know what to do or talk about around a bunch of girls anyways, unless we were talking about dick). Not a hot topic with the Lesbos ladies.

The guys won’t talk to me, because to them, I’m not a guy. To them I must be some weird throwback to the girl’s club.

It’s hard not to cry.

There was still another hour before the parade starts and I was thinking, if I leave now, I can beat the traffic, stop at the store and buy a thing of milk, and go home and flirt with severely depressing ideas.

I just want to be one of the guys again. Except now I am transitioning without passing as transgender or either or. The world now only sees a bearded chic and there is no place for that.

I did end up leaving. I cried and bled inside, all the way home. I went into the bathroom and entertained dangerous dark thoughts while I took the razor to my chin and shaved off the goatee. The job only takes about five or six swipes and the worse I could have done is nick myself.

Is it anyone’s fault for not making me feel like a part of the rainbow? No. I’m certain this is all on me and how I let it all affect me. Nevertheless—

My message to you is this: There is a T in LGBT. It would be nice if it didn’t feel like LGB—-T.


An anonymous gay guy, born without his penis


  1. Hugs. I wish so much that it could be in person.
    That you shared this… it takes guts. And maybe it helped you? I hope for that too.
    It’s difficult for me to know what to say since we don’t know each other. Except, you’re important and special and necessary, just like anyone else walking around, whether at Pride or anywhere else.
    Logically, we know that when someone laughs and points, it’s out of ignorance. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
    If you haven’t already, would you think about showing this letter to some people? Anyone you trust, and someone in a support group you might know about, and even someone you don’t know at a support group. Let them read it, watch them while they do, and they’ll see you.
    I dunno if anything I’m saying will add something positive to your life, but that’s my intent.
    It’s easy for me to see your heart here. Others will too.


  2. B.A. and Anon, thank you for sharing this powerful story. Anon, I’m so sorry you went through that, and I wish I could give you that hug.


  3. Thank you for sharing your story with us. It hurts to read it, and to imagine how much more it must’ve hurt you.

    I know it’s hard, but you will get through this and find someone to hang out with, someone who understands what you’re talking about (and no, I’m not talking about another FtM. Simply someone who understands) Because we all can do it, we just have to open our eyes and hearts, to see and listen. It might change the way we see the world and therefore, change it to the better and make it a better place for all of us.

    I’m wishing you much strenght to go on with your journey.



  4. Thank you for your post. It is really thought provoking and also upsetting. I find it hard to imagine how alone you feel. I really hope that you can find support and care, friendship and love for who you are. Keep strong please, believe in the you, you know you want to be.


  5. Anon, I am so sorry you had that experience, and no, I don’t think it’s on you for your reactions to those people’s comments. I think it’s on them for snickering and being outright jackasses. If I were in your area, I’d have totally gone to Pride with you.

    My wife and I went and she got overheated (in St. Louis, the heat index was 100 and her English constitution wasn’t ready for it), so she sat in the shade and we watched the parade beside a trio of people dressed as Ghostbusters. I did a double take not because one of them was clearly FTM (and maybe transitioning because from what I could tell, he had a low voice, a more prominent Adam’s apple and some calculated stubble, and hadn’t had top surgery if that was going to be part of his repertoire). I did a double take, though it wasn’t because of him or who he was. It was because the guy was wearing LAYERS in that kind of heat. I mentioned it to Kate (my wife) later and she said she bet the binder would have been super hot, which makes total sense.

    I don’t pretend to know how it feels to be trans* or what the transitioning process is like, but reading this was enough for me to appreciate him all the more. He was lovely, especially when my wife got dizzy and I offered to buy a bottle of water from them (they were PREPARED) to try and cool her off. They gave me the water, waved away my money, and let me take a couple scoops of ice water from their cooler itself to put on the back of her neck. They offered to help and when we decided enough was enough and we were leaving, they were all gracious.

    My point is, ALL should be welcome because Pride is about celebrating who we are, not putting conditions on it if someone considers themselves a work in progress. We’re all a work in progress. And I for one was grateful for the group we interacted with. I wish we could have stayed for a few more minutes to talk to them. They were great people.

    Those dipshits at your Pride missed out on an opportunity to know someone amazing. Though judging by their behavior, maybe you dodged a bullet. Maybe next year, if you’re further along in your journey, you might see those judgy groups again and you can point out to them that you didn’t give up.


  6. This post has been sitting open on my browser for a week now, and I finally got to reading it. And it hits me hard… because I’m in a very similar position. I actively avoid social gatherings because I don’t pass for trans and don’t come anywhere close to passing for male either. Being another gay man born without a dick, I felt every single word of this entry as if I were living it. I’m so sorry you experienced that, Anon, and I just hope that things improve for all of us in the FTM spectrum of transitioning or even non-transitioning. Our identity shouldn’t be waved off because of how we look. And to be treated like a freak or like a nothing… it’s hurtful, no matter who you are or how you identify or express yourself. I hope everyone will be mindful after reading this. I’m right there with you in spirit.


  7. I know the feeling…was breifly at pride …got the anti T vibe and left.
    I would have gone to pride with you.
    If I had a group of guys at pride harassing me I would have gone and told the police LOL that is what the police were there for to hold back the harassers .. no matter what their sexual preference might is still wrong for ANYONE to be harassed by ANYONE. Being a letter in the LGBTQ does not give ANYONE the right to be a biggot.


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