Transwife

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Transwife
A Diatribe
By Maryanne Peters

This is not a happy story. I like a happy stories, but this is not one of those.

It started happily enough, from a point. Transgirl wrestles with her problem, transgirl comes out, transgirl cause family commotion, transgirl becomes accepted by family (all except one), transgirl transitions, transgirl becomes accepted at work (all except one), transgirl saves money, transgirl gets her dream anatomy, transgirl meets guy, transgirl falls in love, transgirl marries her man …

They all lived happily ever after – right? Wrong.

Transgirl’s husband Nick, comes out as trans. That is right – one evening I find Nick looking very sad and he says to me: “Darling I’m sorry, but I have been deceiving you. I am transgender, just like you”.

I sometimes think that emotions come in pairs – you know: Fear and contempt, pity and disgust. So, I suppose it was sad sympathy and anger. Sympathy because … hey, I’ve been there. Who could understand better than me? Anger because … why didn’t you tell me, bitch?

A while later I said as much, after I had listened to all the pain. I said something like: “If you had told me earlier, we could have gone through this together”. I kept it as gentle as possible, despite the rage. I even thought at the time that I meant it.

“I wanted you so much, but what I really wanted was to be you,” Nick said.

How do you respond to that?

“But I love you, I really do,” he added. “I want us to be together forever.”

We cried together. But what he was really saying was that our relationship was sort vicarious sex change. He thought that he could avoid transition by somehow living it through me. And it turns out, he is not alone. Nor am I alone as the wronged transwoman. I was reminded that one of the pioneers of the transgender movement, April Ashley married just this kind of man. At her divorce trial the judge observed: “Mr. Corbett was apparently envious of his wife – she was everything he wanted to be.” And there are other examples of men who have married transwomen to somehow fulfill a fantasy, only to discover that it was not enough. They had to complete themselves.

He loved me, but I would not have married him had I known. I wanted a man. That is what I thought I got. But he never was that, and he knew it. He said that he thought marriage to me would fix things and allow him to lead “a normal life”. If he had told me that before we wed, I would have told him just how wrong he was. You cannot run away from this. This is real.

Now he was blandly informing me that I was to become a lesbian.

So many transgendered people who have been through what I have been through said to me: “You don’t need a man to be a woman”, or “Be free of the binary world – love the person”. I am not saying they are wrong, but I don’t want to be a lesbian. All I have ever wanted was to be a woman in the arms of a man.

I feel that so many transwomen find themselves with women because women are understanding and supportive. Men are bastards, I know that. I was one, remember. But I want one. Just like other women, who are always hoping that they can knead the bastard of their man, and make him the perfect partner. Women do it. Don’t give up on men.

I don’t want a tranny-lover either. I don’t want a guy who wants a shemale, but with settle for a chick with a dick, without the dick. Stay away from my asshole, Dude. That is for shitting out of. I have a pussy. Fashioned with men in mind. Designed to take a living, hot, pulsating penis – not just plastic.

That was all Nicky could offer me after the operation. I sat beside her as she regained consciousness. The moment that he eyes opened I could see the excitement in those eyes that I had fallen for.

“I am a woman, at last,” she said. There were tears of joy in her eyes. I was crying too, but not for joy. I was thinking that she had taken from us “our penis” – the one we shared for pleasure. Now we have only plastic.

I married a man and ended up with a woman, but plenty do. Am I different from any genetic woman who marries such a person? There are so many who stand by the person they married. They still “love the person”, don’t you know. As time passed Nicky wanted us to affirm our vows – as two lesbians. I did not say no. I just put it off.

I remember I was putting rollers in Nicky’s hair. She was giggling away. I had to swat her hand away a few times she was so excited to have hair done at home, and to touch it. I remember thinking how pathetic it was. I knew that I needed a man. I hungered for the smell of one, for the deep voiced whisper in my ear, the strong rough hands over my body, the flesh inside me. In that moment I would have happily gone to a bar and slutted myself. Instead I was brushing out her curls.

But then, by the best of fortunes, Alberto came along. Not at a bar, but through work. We went out for coffee, then for lunch a few days later. He was tall, and dark, hairy body, a little short of hair on top. So much a man that I ached for it.

He asked me if I was attached, and I said: “I have no man in my life at the moment”. Which was absolutely true.

Before the evening date, I told him my story - everything. I said: “I am only telling you this because I would like us to be friends, and friends should not hold back secrets like this”. It was not the first time I had done this. Then you add: “I would understand completely if you don’t want to date me…”.

To my surprise he did not storm off. He just looked at me in total surprise, which is always flattering. He said: “I think you are fascinating”. Fascinating is good, right. Well it was. We fucked and I gave him everything every guy could dream of. I know what that is.

It was like a second chance. But how do you break it to your spouse? I just took him home. I prepared him for some emotional turmoil, and that is exactly what happened. Nicky went to pieces. I am not heartless. I held her and simply said: “Baby I’m sorry, but I’m not gay.”

I think Nicky somehow thought that she could keep me if she could somehow accommodate Alberto. It was obvious to us both that Alberto felt uncomfortable, but he was not a quitter. In the end I suggested a threesome. That was my mistake.

Alberto became a weekend housemate. The man with two transwomen to make love to. I could understand that. I only want one man, but what man would want one woman if he had two? Well, it turned out that Alberto only wanted one.

He said to me: “Babe. You are the sweetest of hard candy, but I like marshmallows”.

Like, what the fuck does that mean? It meant that I was “too aggressive” where Nicky was soft and submissive. Can you believe it? My husband was girlier that me. It is true that Nicky was chubby and seemed to have become a bit of an airhead since her first dose of hormones. And she loved frills and ribbons and bows, and way too much pink.

Still, some men would rather fall into a soft sofa that ride a motorbike. She is a sofa.

But what about me? Is there a man out there for me? A real man? Hello out there!

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019

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Comments

Well that was fucking ironic!

laika's picture

Ironic that a transsexual woman would go through what many genetic women go through when their husband comes out as female and transitions, and to voice all the same resentments about "not wanting to be a lesbian" and "why didn't you tell me BEFORE we got married and had kids?!". (I have a neighbor couple who are going through that right now. Living pretty much as roommates these days, the wife repulsed by the husband's embracing her true nature, staying nominally together for the kids, both miserable in their marriage but the husband at least is experiencing freedom from the lie she'd been living {and I have someone I can talk about this transgender stuff with in real-life!}. I like them both as people and do feel sorry for the wife, she's a sweetheart and never saw this coming, but I understand why my trans friend HAD TO DO THIS. It's a mess...). The narrator says she's "not unsympathetic" to Nicky's plight but she sure sounds unsympathetic to me; blaming her former partner for something the woman HAD TO DO, and not understanding how someone's denial and hoping they can somehow abide with living as a male can prevent a transgender individual from coming out for years or decades; until they come to a fork in the road where it's do the transition thing or die. Sometimes life shits all over you and it's no one's fault, but she's somewhat selfishly blaming another former male for coming to the same fork in the road she did. Perhaps she would have preferred it if she'd come home to find her husband hanging dead from the rafters in a pink nightie.

My disliking the narrator doesn't mean I dislike this story. It's yet another of your permutations on a transition story; highly inventive and all too believable; and some excellent monologuing like out of a Tennessee williams play or something. And you did warn us this isn't a happy story. Sometimes we don't get our happy ending, but I think some of this character's misery is of her own making.
~hugs again, Veronica

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(Someday I'll blog or do a story based on the neighbors I mentioned, but it doesnt feel appropriate to use them for story-fodder right now...)

I didn't read it the same way

erin's picture

I read that the MC understood, but was having trouble accepting. Asking why didn't you tell me, is not a failure to understand. She knew, but it was just a kick in the gonads she wasn't ready to accept. Made the whole thing much more intense and believable, if she had been able to accept there wouldn't have been the same story to tell.

And knowing that some of what you are feeling is your own fault doesn't mean you're ready to accept that either. She has rationalization available and reasonableness, too. She thought she was marrying a man, not another woman. No one in the story had much choice available for not hurting someone.

Very good.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

I called it a Diatribe

Just something a little different.
You know I try to be.
Maryanne

I agree with your interpretation.......

D. Eden's picture

I am kind of on the other side of this too. Like many transgender people, I spent literally decades denying who I was. I lived the life I felt I was destined to live, burying my true self so far down that when I eventually was forced to admit so I truly was, that I was afraid she was dead.

I love my wife - I am, and always have been pansexual. As such, what matters to me is not so much what gender she is, but WHO she is. I am attracted to people not just because of their physical selves, but because of their WHOLE being. Physical, intellectual, emotional, personality, everything - the whole package.

As such, I love my wife as she is. I always have, and I always will. Her gender makes no difference to me.

But herein lies the rub. She is straight - totally and completely. She tells me she still loves me, but she cannot be with me physically. I am screwed by my own success. She thinks of me as a woman - which is what I want - but because of that, she can only think of me as a friend.

So, I am the victim of my own success.

The one person that I truly love is still directly in front of me. But I am not the person that she wants to be with anymore. So I live in fear that one day, even though she still loves me, she too will find a real man to be with.

And my world will fall to pieces.

D. Eden

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus