There’s a misconception that passing refers to transfolk blending in.
Until that happens, people are quick to remind you of it.
And when the co-worker, stranger, sales clerk, secretary takes a minute to think about someone other than themselves the questions are always the same:
“So, like, which way are you, like, going?”
As if there were only two directions.
“I was thinking about going down.
But, like, not on you.”
“Have you had ‘the surgery’?”
If there ever was a surgery so popular that it was known as “The Surgery” then surely it would be one all of Hollywood was getting.
“No, I haven’t gotten a boob job, facelift, botox, tummy tuck, brow lift, nose job, stomach staples, lasix, hair implants.”
And I don’t want any of those either.
Of course, if you were referring to my genitals, you should have said so.
And I would have just as easily made you regret asking.
“How do you, you know, do it?”
“It was nice to meet you, and I, you know, do it by shaking hands.
Or with my extraterrestrial tentacles.
Or just like everyone else.”
As a transwoman I’m a sexual oddity.
A fetish.
A personal bedside freak show.
But I like the difference.
It means I am one of the few dykes that can penetrate her partner.
Only, my dildo can feel sensations.
“Do I have to learn all of this to be an ally? Because, I totally already have tranny friends.”
And here’s where we come back to blending in.
It doesn’t matter if it’s someone on the street, in your class, on the mic, or in your bed.
If you really care about being an ally, you’ll learn how to be one.
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