Over the years, I kept trying. To have. To be. There were a few relationships that evolved and collapsed, with lesbians who wanted women and straight women who wanted men, momentary lovers for whom I was not enough of either one and too much of the other. I tried a few men, but they could not see me as anything but a temporary solution to their own ambivalence. Finally, at forty, I resolved to accept my lovelessness. Contrary to the suggestion of a therapist, I am not one of those transsexuals who rejects anyone who would love a transsexual, a variation on the old Groucho Marx joke. I am,
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