Break It Down, Butch.

February 14, 2011

[57] Valentine’s Day, 2011.

Happy Valentine’s day, guys!

I celebrated mine getting my American passport renewed. Dual nationality for the win. 😀

There was a very cool moment at the embassy, actually. I was the first guy in line, thanks to getting there bugfuck early, and the lady behind the bullet-proof glass was eat-your-heart-out gorgeous. A proper double-take beauty. Dark hair, dark eyes, killer smile, coffee-caramel skin, and I don’t mean to get all objectifying here, but I would have happily created a small diplomatic incident if she’d let me take her out of lunch.

But that’s not the cool part. The cool part was after she’d called me ‘sir’, like pretty much everyone else ever these past few months (that’s a post for another day), and then got a look at my old American passport. The one that has the photo of skinny little seven-year-old me in a dress.

I was expecting the double-take, and the embarrassment, and the flustered apology. What I wasn’t expecting was the carefully worded inquiry about whether I was changing my legal gender.

“Nope,” I said, with a wry kind of grin. “Still legally female, if you want to be technical.”

And this is the cool bit: she gave me a thoughtful once-over, embarrassment falling away, and then smiled beautifully. One of those light-up-the-room smiles. Then she called me ‘sir’ for the rest of the exchange, perfectly naturally, like it was just the thing to do. Like she’d seen a little piece of me, and understood it, and was happy to share it.

That made my whole day, pretty much.

January 19, 2010

[4] Pants On Fire.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 23:19
Tags: ,

So, I’m a lying liar who lies. Instead of commenting around (why does that sound so much like ‘sleeping around’?) I ended up going to a seminar on gay civil partnerships at university instead. It was pretty damn interesting. Though I’d guess that Paul Burston’s photo was taken at a point in his life when he was better acquainted with either a gym or an air-brushing artist, or both.

Still, he talked at length about his own experiences of growing up gay in the Stonewall 80’s (in South Wales, of all places), and how David Bowie saved his life. And about his book, which is apparently fantastic. The section he read out loud didn’t grab me much, admittedly, but it might have been the endless pop culture references.

Anyway! I took a whole bunch of notes that I’m hoping to turn into a coherent post, but the most interesting part of the evening was running into my university’s LGBT student contingent. Which apparently exists. A transwomen and her lesbian pal took to me and my friend lightning-strike fast (it helps, I think, that I look so obviously gay — I got grabbed by a few people over the course of the evening), and sat with us throughout the whole seminar. Then they introduced us to the official LGBT group — an actual group! — who’re meeting tomorrow for a cinema run. We got invited. 😀

And it turns out one of the girls lives on our street, barely five doors down from us, in a house owned by our very own landlord! Small world, eh?

One of my old lecturers was there, too. A world-class femme, right down to the high-maintenence crazy. (Kidding! Kidding!) But gods, the woman is a knock-out. The last time I saw her, she had flame-red hair and a serious smirk. Tonight she had shorter, darker hair, and practically threw herself over to talk to us. Always exciting. I said something funny at one point, I don’t remember exactly what, and she gave my face a kind of playful half-slap/jaw caress.

Damn good thing I was sitting down, is all I can say.

Then I got button-holed by this really intense, older, blond-haired butch on the way out. It was a little weird. She sort of backed me into a corner, stared at me for a few seconds, then wanted to know if I was a lecturer (definitely not) or a student, and whether I was willing to take part in a study on lesbian/bisexual health services, which are pretty non-existent. And whether I could pass the word on to all of my gay friends.

“Sure,” I said slowly. “But most of them don’t live in England…”

She didn’t seem to hear this, but she did shake my hand heartily on the way out. Then my flatmate and I walked home with the girl who lives on our street, trading coming out stories the whole way.

Ha! My flatmate’s talking to the transwoman on Facebook right now (the amazing powers of the internet, man), and the lady in question thinks I’m hot. I tell you, it’s been a cool day.

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