One of the features of my experience is the recovery of significant and often painful memories, events long past. As I've said before, they weren't exactly "forgotten", just filed away somewhere and marked "unimportant... these are not the droids you're looking for..."
Most of them have been recovered now, well, so I fondly hope. It's never a comforting experience when one of them surfaces into my consciousness, but it's part of the healing process.
This one's from almost exactly 30 years ago.
The Australian Premiere at the newly-opened Sydney Hoyts Multiplex cinema of "Star Wars".
SF Fandom was there in force, including a gaggle of Trekettes. Now in those days (Oh Gosh I feel old saying that), before the Trek Movies, long before DS9 or TNG or Voyager or anything else, "Star Trek" meant "Star Trek : The Original Series". And the female uniforms were less than politically correct, straight out if the 60's in fact. Tunics with short-short skirts and black knee boots. In one photo-op, I had a number - about half a dozen - of lithe, petite females in very revealing costumes using me as a perch, basically. One on each knee, one on each shoulder, and two others wherever they could drape themselves aluringly.
Why me? Because I was built like a quarterback, ridiculously broad shoulders, huge ribcage, strong... and because they knew they wouldn't be groped. I was an "honourary member" of the sisterhood, a "male auxiliary" if you like. Not gay, but I didn't "vibe" male, even then. Trustworthy. Harmless.
I'd just turned 18. And I wondered why I didn't feel any attraction. There I was, teenage guy, lots of very feminine flesh draped over me, and all I felt was.... jealousy. Envy. Wishing I was more than an "honourary member". Wishing I could have been one of them, with a body like theirs, though I doubt I would ever have had the Chutzpah to wear a uniform like that. Wondering why I felt that way, how come my instincts weren't normal? Glad that I got some "street cred" and envious looks from guys, it helped the act, gave me confidence that no-one would guess.
"Alan, you sly dog!"
"Hey, what can I say? Some guys have it, and some don't."
Validation as a male, something I wanted to be, tried so hard to be, something my body condemned me to be, yet no matter how I tried, I just didn't have the instincts for it.
At the time, I was more puzzled than anything. How come I felt so... comfortable amongst these girls. How come they thought like I did.
But now, from the viewpoint of 30 years later, that moment is unbearably poignant. If my recent metabolic storm had happened at age 12.... but even then, even at age 10, I was still broad-shouldered, big for my age. Too masculine. Femininity, so desperately desired and denied, was never in the cards, was never a realistic possibility.
Or so I thought.
No wonder that memory took 30 years to surface. Not just the facts, but the attendant feelings. Had it come earlier, I might not have been able to continue with the male act, and with no alternative, where would that have left me? A freak. A man-in-a-dress.
Now I'll never be able to wear one of those costumes. A woman nearly 50, and with a barrel ribcage? No, it's not on. But oh my, I'm not that far off.
The memory is terribly painful : but my situation is so wonderful now that I am left ruefully shaking my head at the whole absurdity of the situation.
In case my readers haven't guessed, having "Congenital Neurological Intersex", being Transsexual, really, really, really sucks. Doing something about it, no matter what the cost, is such an immense relief though.
I wonder where the other girls are now? And what would they think? Would it surprise them? Or would they just say "ah, that explains it". Food for thought. But they'd be 50 now, or nearly, and their days of wearing miniskirts and looking good in them are long gone. Who knows, I might even look better than they do now.
And that really would be Validation.
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