New Adventures

I've been wanting to write about some of my more explicit adventures, but you guys came mostly (I assume) for the writing, though you stuck around for the food and the birds and even Billy Joel. I definitely plan to keep chronicling my transition, but I realize that some of you may not want to read raunchy details of my resulting sex life. So, following theferrett 's example, I started an account on the kink site FetLife, where my handle is "billythetwink." You'll need an account there to read my posts, but it's free and very easy to set up.

If you go there, please do me a huge favor: Don't, um, interrogate these texts from any kind of social justice perspective. I realize that the culture I'm seeking to enter can be quite misogynistic. My feelings about exclusively male/exclusively female spaces are complicated and not very well thought out. If that aspect of the posts offends you, then don't read them, but please don't comment negatively on it here or over there. I'm still figuring it out for myself, and I'd like to be able to chronicle these things without feeling guilty about it.

I am going to repost the first part of last night's adventure here, because this was the first time I've confronted this situation and handled it well instead of slinking away and feeling awful, and I'm pretty damn proud of that. Here goes:

Cruised for action tonight. I am known by name (Billy) at the Phoenix now, but the upstairs is closed on Mondays. I go to the Quarter, find nothing going on at the Bourbon Pub, decide to brave the Rawhide (a fairly hardcore gay leather bar) though I have never been there and had planned to wait until Grey -- much beloved and respected in the local gay community -- could take me. I order a Wild Turkey and soda from the friendly bartender, go into the back room where I've heard the action happens, start watching the porn on the TV screen. A few minutes later, a security guy approaches me.

SECURITY: I'm sorry, you need to stay toward the front -- women need to --

ME: I'm not female.

SEC: You're not?

ME: I'm a trans guy.

BARTENDER (comes over): What was your name again?

ME: Billy.

SEC (to bartender): ... A tranny ...

BAR (to sec): It's OK.

SEC (to me): Oh, you can stay. I'm sorry.

ME: It's OK.

SEC: I'm really sorry.

ME: It's OK, man.

The sound of my liberation is "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty. I've always liked that song. I sit on the back shelf and continue watching the porn ... (To read the rest, come on over to FetLife. As they say there, no one will bite unless you want them to.)