Charlie Kiss - A New Man: Lesbian. Protest. Mania. Trans Man

A New Man

A Memoir by Charlie Kiss

Copyright 2017 Charlie Kiss

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life experiences and recollections of the author. In some cases, names of people and descriptions have been changed solely to protect the privacy of others.

The views and opinions expressed in the book are the authors.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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Dedicated to trans men everywhere and to anyone who has been incarcerated for mental health problems.

Contents

Introduction

Until my early thirties, I lived my life as a lesbian, much of it in a separatist lifestyle. Lesbianism, and its implied strength and independence from men, was my identity first and foremost. I knew one thing for certain: I was attracted to women. I felt proud to be a lesbian, much more so than being a woman, and I was determined to avoid subservience to men. Most lesbian separatists, including me, believed that men were the main cause of so many womens problems.

Mens domination of the world order made me angry. I saw my mother, a strong and talented woman, treated as a second-class citizen; there were fewer opportunities and choices open to women, to me, consequently I despised sexism and the power men had.

Then one day I woke up and had an epiphany. Previous feelings about being male had been repressed but not this time. This morning, I couldnt deny it. It was crystal clear: I wanted, and needed, to transition to male.

At the time, nearly all my friends were lesbians and I thought it was highly unlikely that I would get a positive reaction or encouragement from any of them about being transsexual.

But I harboured a greater fear still. In my twenties, I had suffered destructive episodes of severe mental illness and had an identity crisis. I was not prepared to risk returning to that state no matter the personal discomfort and continuing sexual problems I had.

So, I concluded that the seemingly obvious resolution to problems in my relationships and the achievement of my childhood dream to be male had to stay unachievable. I told myself I would just have to accept myself as I was and make the best of things.

People often say youre influenced by your upbringing but there is still little consensus about how much is shaped by the environment or genetics, nature or by nurture. I dont know why some people feel that they have an inherent trait of being a different gender to the one presumed at birth based on external physical characteristics, but for me it was simply the conflict between how I expected my body to be and the reality of having a female body. It was fundamentally a physical and sexual issue and this had always been my reality.

I know without question, that since changing to male emotionally and biologically through the injection of male hormones, physically through surgery and of course socially has meant that I feel far more comfortable and happier in myself. This is my story of the long journey of how I got there.

Epiphany

I sat bolt upright in bed. Saturday morning sunlight crept in around the drawn curtains. I was lost in thought. An idea had been building in my mind, and as I lay in bed it crystallized until I blurted out loud, Thats it, I must be transsexual!

The idea felt blindingly obvious. I felt certain and exhilarated. I was in my early 30s, in my treasured council flat in Kilburn and in an on/off relationship. Carol lay in bed beside me, trying to pull the duvet back down. She said, Dont be ridiculous! Of course, youre not! She rolled over on her side and tried to go back to sleep.

The night before, wed had sex with most of our clothes on. I much preferred it that way, as it enabled me to deny my female body. I had turned my head and seen her bright purple varnished nails grasping my shoulders; it was so erotic, I was obviously with a heterosexual woman, at least in my fantasy. Carol had short blonde hair and dressed in a conventionally feminine way with delicate scarves, broches and flowing skirts but like most of my previous partners, considered herself a lesbian.

It dawned on me that I had never allowed myself to think properly about how I felt about the uncomfortable truth that I didnt have what I yearned for a mans body. I couldnt come without fantasising about having male genitals and I simply felt disconnected from the body I had been dealt. I tried other fantasies of being a woman desperately and I tried to be in the present but I always reverted to being male, every single time.

I found it very difficult to enjoy being touched, which meant sex was often one-sided, with me giving pleasure. With Carol, I fantasised that I was the eager young man seducing an older yet inexperienced woman.

I had been confused on hearing that many butch, masculine-appearing lesbians were comfortable having a female body, didnt behave butch in bed and even liked to be penetrated. Conversely with me, although I didnt appear that butch, my body was clearly guarded, with several out of bounds signs.

Sometimes lovers told me that I had nice breasts, which I could just about cope with but if anyone touched them I reacted badly. Once I forcefully pushed my partner away in anger and another time it happened, I threw a plate against the wall. I usually wore T-shirts in bed to cover them up or Id lie on my front, enabling me to feel I was a man.

My desire to have male genitalia overwhelmed me to the point that I even watched gay mens porn so that I could focus on masculine sexuality rather than being forced to remember that I had a female body. But I never felt attracted to men.

On this morning, I tried to ignore Carols dismissal. Absorbed in thoughts that my body should have been male, that in fact I was male, I got out of bed, took off my t-shirt and underwear and walked over to the full-length mirror and looked at myself completely naked.

In a new light, I saw more clearly than usual. I saw a womans body with my male head on it, objectively a reasonable female body but looking completely incongruous with my head. I flexed my biceps, which made me feel slightly better. I didnt have a bad set of muscles and at least I had been blessed with broad shoulders.

Thoughts crowded into my head. How could I desire a male body? Im a feminist. Changing into a man is utterly unacceptable. I have a healthy body, why seek medical intervention to change it? Was I prepared to be seen as a man in everyday life? It just felt too much to even contemplate.

Indeed, it was too much. I decided I would just cope the best I could. I bottled up my feelings and suppressed my yearning to be male. I didnt mention the subject again to Carol.

Colombia to London

Knowing where you come from is essential for a sense of identity. Knowing your gender is even more critical. I was born in London and given a girls name easily shortened to Charlie. My original birth certificate identified me as female, a fact that I spent half my life coming to terms with as an error, but at least I knew who my parents were and I knew I was from London.