The Subversive | Volume 15 | Melanie Anne Phillips

THE SUBVERSIVE

Volume 15

“Where Dreams are the stuff Reality is made of”

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right. The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,
Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

WHERE TO GET THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, Feminet, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world!

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free online to all who wish to read it. However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain. Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose.

EXPLORATIONS

by
Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

“Skeletons In The Closet You Came Out Of”

I’ve never danced before. Oh, sure, a little disco but nothing organized. Well, I take that back… I did TRY dancing once: country line dancing with my writing partner Chris. He is an excellent dancer and invited me along one evening to join him. I was awful. No two ways about it, I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other to music.

This isn’t a new thing with me – I’ve ALWAYS been an awful dancer. I’m not uncoordinated, mind you, and manage all kinds of complex physical maneuvers that don’t occur to music (no nookie jokes, please!) However, slap the label “dance” on it and suddenly I go into disjointed spasms. Obviously its not a lack of ability, but some kind of anxiety at work here.

The first time I can recall feeling this way was in elementary school when we had to learn those stupid little, cute little Spring Dance routines. We would practice every day for several minutes. I WAS TERRIFIED!!! Why? Because I already felt rejected for who I was inside (a little girl) and was struggling so hard to fit in as a little boy. I studied all their moves in kickball, conversation, even just walking around. I mean here’s this little kid maybe seven years old trying to copy the other little boys so that “he” won’t be rejected anymore.

Trying to dance was the worst of it. It wasn’t just the steps, but the cocky lean that the other boys put into it. Inside, I actually liked dancing, but if I let myself go I acted like a girl and got ridiculed. So not only were there all these steps to learn, but I had to try to hide my natural reaction to the music and copy and fake what the other boys were doing all at the same time. It wasn’t long before I was petrified to be a part of this devastating web of self-created responsibilities.

The most hated of all dances was The Square Dance (note the capital letters!) To me, this was the epitome of challenge from which failure was a higher fall. This was due to the distinct separation between male and female roles of participation. Boys did THIS and girls did THAT. So, I was really on the spot. I would be compared DIRECTLY to the other boys even while being exiled from the role I truly wanted.

All this left its mark. I avoided dancing all of my male years, being forced into it only at my senior prom and my wedding reception. In contrast, my Life Partner, Mary, LOVED square dancing and needled me for years to go with her to try it out. I adamantly refused, and in fact, never went with her at all.

Here is where it might have remained had not Mary decided a couple months ago to join a square dance class on her own. (Although anchored together, being a family of two women has nudged us into exploring some activities as solo acts, rather than as a couple.) After two weeks, she utterly surprised me by asking if I would like to join her in the next class.

Now this was strange enough, as one of her original reasons for going was to meet guys, and my presence would be an odd addition to that effort. But even more strange, I was amazed to discover that I actually wanted to go. Somehow, having lived on this side of the fence for a while, my desire to dance was beginning to return.

So, I joined Mary and was pleased to find that not only did I enjoy the class, but was not half bad at it either! In fact, square dancing is quite fun. (Boy, when they swing you around with a courtesy turn and your skirt takes to the wind with their hand firmly guiding you on the small of your back… Ooo La LA! – oops, wrong dance… but the feeling’s the same!)

Anyway, all this that I have told you is my meandering way of setting the stage for the real heart of this little essay. (I originally was going to call it, “Back to Square One”, but then I would have had to end the story around here somewhere, and that not what I really wanted to talk about!)

Okay, so you sit there in class and the guys come over to you and ask if they can have the next “tip” (or dance). Often, you get booked up early with guys asking at the beginning of the evening for the 3rd tip or the 5th. After a while the same guys kinda gravitate toward you so you spend more time with the same partners.

Mary and I pass ourselves off as room mates. She takes the kids (in explaining our history) and I am a bachelorette. We use different last names. This works fine most of the time, but we do have to watch what we say.

Of course, Mary and I are both cruising for guys as well, so sometimes it gets interesting when the same guy is interested in both of us and we have to fight over him. Nothing nasty mind you, just trying to out flirt the other one – a friendly rivalry.

Well, even that was okay because it was just during the dancing. But in the last two weeks some of the guys have figured they have known us long enough and are starting to move in. Now, let me explain something about the guys who come to square dances. Most of them are either 80 years old, or fat or ugly or slouched over or obnoxious. One or two are okay. There’s nobody there to die for. Still, an okay guy is better than no guy, so that direction of thinking does have fodder for the heart.

One of the guys who came on to me reminds me of Segourney Weaver’s tax consultant neighbor in ghost busters. He just comes on strong, monopolizes the conversation and sort of buzzes around you like a lecherous humming bird. Last week it took me five minutes to break away from his conversation so I could go home.

But the good news is, a really nice guy showed up two weeks ago for the first time. He is an experienced dancer, just coming to brush up a bit. I won’t say too much about him that might identify him, so as not to violate his privacy to others. What I CAN say is that he can turn you in a spin like NOBODY can! I had trouble with the spins until him…. not anymore!

Anyway, we talked a lot that night and struck it off well. We had a lot in common, including his being a writer. So, I gave him my business card and invited him to call me about Dramatica (the writer’s software program I am co-developing). A few days later, he DID call. This was a real kick! I’ve spent time with a number of guys, but none who were unaware of my past. This nice guy just knew me as Melanie the story theorist and liked me for that alone.

(Now you see how we are working up to Skeletons In The Closet You Came Out Of, eh what?) So, we talked and had a good conversation. I helped keep it going because I wanted to have this thing progress a bit. Well, it did. A couple days later, I got a two page handwritten letter from him, telling me a bit about himself, his work, and his interests.

One might think that I would be overjoyed at this. I tried to be, I really did… but I began to get depressed instead. This is a NICE guy – a guy who is a gentleman, who lives alone, who has got to be lonely and is attracted to me. When I tell him about my past, he’s going to be hurt. No doubt about it. So, what do I do? Never date guys who don’t know? Hope that my notoriety from the Dramatica Program precedes me to the point that I become a celebrity transsexual so EVERYONE knows and I don’t have to worry about it?

You see, I just don’t want to hurt him or anybody else. But I don’t want to only date people from the gender community either. The way I figure it, if I had divorced Mary and moved out, I could claim that whole previous life was behind me. I could even deny it if I wanted (though that is not my way). Still, when I told him, there would be no visible evidence of my past, no lingering remnants – just the new Melanie that he is attracted to. Then, I could deal with telling him and know that it wouldn’t hurt him as much, since it is all in the past.

But by staying with my family, my past is carried over into the present. I sleep in the same bed with Mary, we co-own the home, we have a family here! Sounds like I should just settle down and not date, right? But how in blazes can I have gone through all the pains of transition and not seek its ultimate rewards. When I am in the arms of a man, well, that’s heaven. But I love Mary too!

So, as you can see, I got depressed, chasing my mental tail. And then, I had an inspiration… Why not ask a GUY!!! Chris was in Paris on vacation, so I tracked down his VERY male brother (Otter) who also works at the company. He and I share problems from time to time, so I hit him with this one. He said that there definitely WAS something I could do to limit how much hurt my fellow would feel and would still allow me to date.

Otter said that a guy just needs to know there is danger lurking so he can be ready when it comes. He said that one my first date, if it looks like things will continue, I should tell any guy that I have a few skeletons in my closet that I don’t want to talk about now, but just wanted him to know so that he won’t be hurt later. He said that guys will hold back a bit of their heart when they hear this. They will either demand to be told right then and there or no more momentum, or they will keep a little wall around their heart until they find out later. If they need to know right now, I can tell them and take my chances or I can decline and not continue the relationship, depending on if I want them blabbing it all around or not. Well, with Mary and myself in the class for the next five months, I don’t want anything blabbed that would ruin it for the two of us, so I will decline. However, I think it is only moral (to me) to tell the guy the whole truth BEFORE you become intimate. Anything less than honesty at that time would (for me) be crossing the line.

But, I wasn’t completely convinced (never having thought like a man and therefore unable to judge the accuracy of Otter’s statement as a truism for all or most men. So, I went home and asked my 14 year old son, Keith (who is all full of hormones these days) if what Otter said was true. He told me that ABSOLUTELY it was true! He said, “Let me give you an analogy” and explained that if a guy is walking down the street and gets jumped, he is really injured because he didn’t see it coming. But if a guy goes down the street KNOWING someone is going to jump him, he can be prepared. Even though he’ll get beat up some, at least he was ready for it, and that’s all a guy really wants.

Well, I’ve never felt like that. I don’t know if its me, or if its just a difference between men and women. But I do believe that it works for guys. So, I sat down and wrote out a friendly one page letter to my new friend on pretty stationery and dropped in the mail two days ago. Tomorrow is the next class. He said in his letter he would be there. I fully expect him to ask me out sometime during the evening, and I will say yes. And when we are on our first date, if it is going well, I will find the moment to tell him I have a skeleton in my closet. And if he can wait to find out what it is, and we approach intimacy, I will tell him that it is the closet I came out of and hope for the best.

UPDATES:

GENDER FORUM

Although we share much common ground, there are also different areas of emphasis between crossdressers and transsexuals. A primary divergence is in the relationship to the gay/lesbian community. For the transsexual, slipping from one sex to the other almost requires re-evaluating one’s sexual preference, sometimes realigning it, and therefore nests nicely in compatibility with the gay/lesbian folk. But for the crossdresser it is a different story. Better than 95% of all crossdressers are believed to be heterosexual. Most are married family men. Discovery in the so-called “straight” community can be devastating to their families and careers. So, association with the gay/lesbian community (although useful in political clout) works against their self image and the image they wish to portray.

Being transsexual myself, I eagerly accepted the invitation by the America Online Gay/Lesbian Community Forum to center out America Online Gender Group in the GLCF area. We went under their wing and gained resources and clout and even “official” status on America Online. What we lost was a separation from the straight world that many crossdressers prefer to keep. Still, we had a home while we grew from 30 members to over 300 at the present time.

Now, however, we account for 10% of the GLCF population, and are growing at a faster rate. As a result, we are big enough to have a little area of our own. Moving out of the GLCF is really not an option. We cannot at this time get direct recognition and computer space from AOL. However, we CAN perhaps carve out an area in the GLCF that is connected but separate. This month I am proposing a plan to the GLCF sysops to create a separate Gender Forum. Initially, we would require no more computer space than we currently have. Rather, all our various resources which are currently scattered throughout the GLCF would be grouped together in one place. This will make it much easier to find and use the Gender Group services.

One way to arrive at this new area would be through a button in the GLCF menu. But I am also proposing a new America Online keyword, “gender” that would zip anyone directly to the Gender Forum from anywhere on AOL without having to go through the GLCF to get there. This plan allows for maintaining our political protection and adding to the clout of our hosts at the GLCF by still being part of their area, but being able to enter the Gender Forum with no reference to the GLCF for those who prefer that route. Once in the Gender Forum it would be all gender issues and this again should help those who are troubled by too close an association.

As we continue to grow, we can add new features such as a bulletin board and conversation area. And someday, if we grow large enough, we perhaps shall have an area truly all our own. In the meantime, I will work for these immediate enhancements and continue to thank the GLCF for all their support over the years.

WOMEN’S FORUM

For the last three months, I have been in contact with the person in charge of the various forums on America online. As they have asked me not to reveal their name, for they do not have time to answer any additional Email, I will refer to them only as N. I have been trying to push forward on the Women’s Forum idea for three months now. Recently, I sent another letter to N stressing again my desire to do whatever preliminary work I can to facilitate the eventual addition of a Women’s Forum to America Online. This is the response.

Subj: Re: Women’s Forum
From: Name Withheld
To: Melanie XX

Hi Melanie,

Right now we must first complete our existing projects before embarking on new ones. There is another person who is the primary candidate for hosting a Women’s Forum (the same person that I previously mentioned) but would be very interested in having you also participate in this forum. At this time however, no additional work has been done on this proposed area but will keep you posted. As you know we get hundreds of suggestions for new forums and it takes a long time to complete our existing projects, build a new area and launch a new service.

Thanks for everything that you have done to stir up interest in a Women’s Forum—really appreciate it. Keep in touch —new services take a long time so it won’t be any time soon due to our heavy work load but I do feel this is a very important forum and would like to see one started.

All the best,
N

I may be biased, but it seems to me that there is little support being offered by America Online for a Women’s Forum. I’m sure it will come to be eventually, but it is my intent to make that sooner than later. I have a number activities I hope to employ in speeding the process. I’ll detail these in future issues as they become implemented.

DRAMATICA

Dramatica (the software program based on a whole new theory of story developed by Chris Huntley and myself) is expected to hit the market in February of ’94. However, word of its revolutionary perspective and the things it can do for writers that have never been done before is spreading. We have been recently written up in the Hollywood Reporter and Variety.

As luck would have it, one of these articles was seen by a BBC producer for a television series in England called Moving Pictures. They are doing an episode on new writing software and contacted our company president. As a result, they came out to Screenplay Systems about a month ago with a crew of six to tape a segment on us and our new theory.

Again, as luck would have it, they liked talking to me and asked if I would do the whole interview. So, they set up the camera, lit me to look pretty and put the interviewer to work. At first they only wanted to do a little bit, but as I explained something of our theory and what it can do they became increasingly interested. In the end, they shot over 30 minutes of tape and we expecting to feature us in a much larger segment of the show.

That’s great for Dramatica, and when I eventually share my past with the public, will be good for our community. But the best part of the interview was when the cameraman was setting up the lights. He looked at my image in the monitor and said, “She’s a babe!” I said, “I think I’m about twenty years too old to be a babe!” He then looked up directly into my eyes and said with a half smile, “Not for me….” Too bad they couldn’t stay a couple of days!

Also, about a week ago, a reporter from U.S. News and World Report came out and interviewed me four a couple of hours. This was a preliminary interview, they will be coming back to do more in depth as they build their story.

MENTAL RELATIVITY

The new psychology of Mental Relativity that Chris and I developed is what is really behind Dramatica. It is what drives “the Dramatica Engine” in the program. But as a psychology, it also has many practical everyday applications and understandings. Part of my job at Screenplay is to write essays explaining aspects of the theory. I will reprint some of the more interesting or useful ones here.

“Doping the Brain”

From the moment of conception the cells that are to become the human brain function chaotically. There is no order nor sequence to their firings and no self-awareness can form. This is much like the gaseous clouds from which our solar system was spawned. In order for consciousness to take hold, there must be a force that focuses the mind, pulling it into a single perspective.

This force comes into being at the twelfth to fourteen week of pregnancy when a flush of testosterone or estrogen washes over the largely developed brain, doping it with one of two essential biases. Either bias serves as a sun at the center of the mental solar system, calibrating the mind with a different weight with which all subsequent experience will be measured.

A testosterone wash biases the mind toward a Spatial Brain Operating System, an Estrogen wash biases the mind toward a Temporal Brain Operating System. All minds sense both time and space, but the bias determines which is favored and which gets second-hand information.

As a result, men and women perceive the same sensory input in different ways, creating both a commonality in what they are looking at and a divergence into what it means to them.

After several days, the brain has established patterns of data organization under the influence of the hormonal bias that act as planets in orbit around the sun. Once these patterns are established, the hormonal flush recedes as if the sun disappeared from the center of the solar system. Why do not the planets fly off into space? Because they have formed a dynamic stability where each mental item is counterbalanced by another item on the opposite side of thought – two equally massive planets in the same orbit 180 degrees out of phase.

Of course, the mental solar system has many more than two items of mind (points of view) and therefore the entire framework is constructed from a multitude of balanced items creating a structure built of dynamics rather than objects: stable only because of its inertia. In a sense, the hormonal bias provides a coriolis effect, putting the solar system either into a clockwise or counter clockwise spin. One it recedes, like a wave from the shore, it leaves patterns behind in the mental sand as a record of its currents and eddies.

When one looks for the physical seat of consciousness, it cannot be found for it does not exist in the fabric of the brain itself but in tendencies established in mental processes that are no longer sustained by the bias which is no longer present. The chaotic nature of sensory perception might creates fractal patterns in electrical functioning in the structure of the brain, but the temporal record of the interaction of the senses and the mind can only be seen in frictal patterns in the self-awareness in the dynamics of the mind.

HEART CORPS

Heart Corps is a company I have formed to distribute the profits from Dramatica where they can help those in need. This month, Heart Corps contributed to Frontline (an organization that serves meals to the homeless on skid row, The Burbank Temporary Aid Society which provides food for those down on their luck, Food For All, and American Way. We are also helping to support people working on expanding the usefulness and accessibility of Mental Relativity.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

First Mammography
From: DeneseAnne

Ladies:

You all have no idea for the treat you are in for. They had a sign hanging on the wall that said, ‘WE COMPRESS BECAUSE WE CARE”. Well they must care a whole lot. I did not think that you could squash them so thin. I mean I know how a grilled cheese sandwich feels when they are put into one of those sandwich machines.

Because this is the first one and there seems to be a lot of what looks like new breast tissue, blush, and because of the amount of hormones that I am on they have requested a second mammography in 5 to 6 months so that they have something to compare with.

This truly makes you feel like a woman, even though she picked it up and flopped it on the x-ray table like it you might flop a hamburger on a grill.

Seriously, this is important. Each one of us on hormones needs to take the time to do a monthly breast exam, get a yearly physicians exam and mammograms as required or recommended. IT IS BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY.

E-mail me with any questions or ask them on-line next Sunday. This concludes the latest update on my journey to SRS.

Subj: Clinton Health Plan
From: Chrissy J
To: Melanie XX

…From an article in The Washington Times 11/15/93 titled
“HEALTH PLAN CARRIES LEGAL TIME BOMBS”

… “Among items for which payment is banned in the bill are
dental care, hearing aids, eyeglasses or contact lenses
for adults, in-vitro fertilization, SEX-CHANGE SURGERY
AND ‘RELATED SERVICES’…..” (emphasis added)

You may want to pass this on to others in the gender conference.

From: JENG3
Subj: thanks
To: Marsha J (Gender Forum Secretary)

a few years ago, back when all you girls had was a private room i found out that a very dear friend of mine was thinking of a sex change operation. i like most people could not understand this. about the same time i ran into someone named donnah. she told me that not only could i ask her anything i wanted and get straight answers that there was also a room i could go to and learn.

i came into your room for a long time, in fact until you moved into this one and could not find it lol. but with the help of Mel’s subversive and the logs that you have been sending me. i have been able to help my friend. while she is not online she wishes me to say thank you for the help she has gotten via me. i also wish to thank you all for not only letting me ask my questions but for helping me to understand that we are all human and with knowledge we can all get along.
Marsha i do not know if this really makes any sense i have been up for about 18 hours and really do not make all that much sense at the best of times. hope this gives you some idea of what you have done for me and my friend. oh she did have the operation and is very happy.

thanks
jen

From: Amante2020
To: Melanie XX

Melanie,

Saw your pictures, I can only sum it up by saying STUNNING!!!!
You took my breath away! If I weren’t married I consider moving to California! I have a Mac and you will be my start up picture so I can see your loveliness everyday at the office.

Best of luck on all your future plans, again STRIKING & STUNNING, you can send me your GIF’s anytime.

Enjoy life and much success to you!

Sincerely,

Amante2020

Due to popular request, here is where you can find downloadable pictures (GIFS) of our members and also Melanie (that’s me folks!) On America Online, use Keyword GLCF. From this menu there are three places you can find different GIFS. One, select Gender Issues folder. Scattered throughout this folder are sever of my pix. Two, from the GLCF menu select New Files. Here you will find the most recent uploads. Three, from the GLCF menu select “more….” then select Family Album. Way the heck down in the list are some others. A final way to find some photos of ol’ Mel is to use keyword “Software”. From the menu, select graphic files. On this search screen, just type the word Melanie in the dialog box and in a matter of seconds you will be presented with all the uploaded files of me in the main software library. Right now there are only two in this area. I was surprised, however. I uploaded the first one and in one day there were over 500 downloads! A week later there were over a thousand! This is a very popular area and you can find everything from programs to games to all kinds of GIFS there. One interesting note: I HAVE gotten some rather INTERESTING mail as a result of uploading my pictures there…!

Now, for those of you who just can’t stand not knowing, but are not on America Online (or if you are really into icon worship and self abuse!) just send me a SASE and a quarter and I’ll bop you off a 3 by 5 signed glossy of (who else) myself! Now is that self serving or what!!!! Anyway, since its only a quarter, I guess that makes me a two bit whore, right! 🙂

And now for the next installment in the serialization of the book, Raised by Wolves: A Transsexual Diary.

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 30 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently normal woman. In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted. And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published. But anything less would be less than truthful. And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

NOTE: Starting with September, 1990, my schedule became so tight while I was editing the feature film, Social Suicide, that I could no longer take the time to make my diary entries directly onto the computer. The only way not to lose the emotion of the moment was to record my thoughts onto a microcassette recorder. Obviously the results are not as polished, nonetheless, I include them here as they are the only record of this portion of my transition.

RAISED BY WOLVES:
A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by
Melanie Anne Phillips

December 1, 1990

I remember last December, my grandmother’s health was failing and we thought we were going to have to move out of the house. I was just winding up my relationship with Andy. Things looked like they were pretty much close to being on the rocks with Mary. Our Christmas shopping was done in the vein of “This is our last Christmas together, so let’s buy some special things for the kids”. Overall, everything looked bleak beyond belief. There seemed to be no way out.

This Christmas things have changed so dramatically. As of THIS December 1st, Mary and I are closer than we have ever been. I’m not planning any relationships with anyone else. That one was enough to tell me what I needed to know. Even though that kind of relationship was fulfilling: being protected and cared for – to have someone else take care of the real world needs – I find enough of that now in my day to day life in terms of relationships in business and with friends. The hugs from Mary are just as comforting as the hugs from anyone else – more so by virtue of a history we have together, the love we share together, the bonding that comes through. It could never be duplicated by anyone else because Mary and I have shared so many “firsts”.

The financial situation is much better. Within a month, the inheritance escrow should come through and I’ll have title to the house. Even though by California law property you inherit does not automatically become community property, I am having Mary’s name put on the deed as co-owner. She earned this house as much as I did by her support of me throughout the years.

The feature film project I have been editing is just about complete. So many things on the horizon for the future. There is so much comfort and inner peace with myself. Yes, there are bad days. Yes, there are downers and depressions. But at this point they are no more than anyone else might suffer just from the way things normally go. And so, I face December on a very positive note.

Today is a special day for me. I’ll be seeing my Dad who lives in San Diego for the first time in fourteen months. Last time I saw him was when I told him about what I was contemplating doing. This time I am halfway fulfilled on that contemplation. I’ll be going as Dave, but so much of how I act and look has changed. I know he wants to be supportive, but I also know he’s uneasy with this. So today it will be interesting to see what someone who has been close to me throughout the years but has not seen me in over a year notices in the way of changes that have occurred in me.

My dad and I have always shared a special relationship although he is a very non-emotional person. He concentrates on intellectualism and the world of reason, both in his career as a civilian engineering project manager for the Navy and in his personal life. And yet, I never felt unwanted or uncared for. During my entire childhood, even though he was divorced from my mother when I was one year old, he came every week to visit me until I was twelve. Then he came every two weeks until I was sixteen and then once a month until I was eighteen. Then he told me it was my job to come visit him every other time, which eventually worked out to every six months or so.

The first time I brought Mary down to meet him fifteen years ago was the first time I ever told him I loved him. I was very nervous but had to say it. He told me he loved me as well. That was very special coming from someone as undemonstrative as him.

And so, today I go into unknown territory.

Last night I spent so much time trying to figure out what to wear. Do I wear what makes me most comfortable, or something that would make Mary more comfortable? And what about my means of speaking? At home I use a different voice than I use at the office when I am Melanie. I’ve found of late that my feminine voice at the office is having an effect on my voice at home. Which one do I use in presenting myself to my dad?

I was worrying about these things as we went to bed, and Mary reached over and held me tight. I slept fitfully, but whenever I awoke I would find her arms around me. I then knew what my decision must be. Because of the way her love reaches out to me, I will dress in a way that is comfortable to her. She deserves this for the love that she gives.

December 2, 1990

Yesterday with my dad was very interesting. I think that even though he did not want to reject me, he rejected the motivations behind was I was doing. There was a definite tension when we arrived. The first thing that happened was a neighbor locked themselves out of their house and needed to use the phone. I ended up hiding in the living room because I knew my dad would not want to introduce me as his son because I have become so feminine, even when dressed as a man.

After the neighbor left, I had a few moments to say something to him and his wife about how I felt. They were not convinced. When I have visited my dad in the past, we always go on some sort of outing. This time we went out to a ship that served as a maritime museum. Whenever the kids saw something of interest, they would call me, “Daddy”, from across the ship. I would come, but each time it happened it cut me like a knife. I don’t want to stunt their development or alter their opinion of me. If they are calling me Daddy its because they need that. I feel a great sense of responsibility to provide that to them.

By the end of the day when we returned to have dinner at the house, I went into some dissertations about how I felt better and more actively handle career issues, and how I was finally sane. My dad, at that point, began to realize, I think, that as much as he disagreed with them, my motivations were real and not fantasies gone wild.

Nothing was really resolved, but I think everyone fully stated their position.

When we came home I decided to go to my monthly support group meeting. I was still dressed the same as I was with my dad when I presented myself as Dave – wearing blue jeans, a loose sweater, light foundation make-up and an almost invisible pink lipstick – more like a lip gloss. From the very first time I had always gone to my support group meeting fully made up in Melanie Mode. But this time I thought, “If you can’t go to your support group meeting as you really are, where CAN you go?” So I just grabbed my keys and went out the door.

I had a wonderful time, actually. During my time to talk, I “did Dave” for about fifteen seconds, using my male voice. By opening up like that, which I had never really done there, I found that my peers appreciated me more. Even my former psychologist, who I hadn’t seen in eight months, came over to give me a hug. A lot of people came over to chat. All in all, it was a wonderful evening.

This morning, I felt rather playful. So I decided to wear the mini skirt I hadn’t worn since my early outing days. Larry (the director of the feature) hasn’t come into the office yet, but as I make this entry I’m wearing that 18″ mini skirt with a braless top. I’ve put on eyeliner, which I haven’t worn in maybe six months and I’m feeling incredibly playful. I’m not doing it to be erotic. I’m just doing it because that’s the way I feel today. If I’m to be accepted as a woman, I have to be able to let loose and dress as I feel. Tomorrow maybe I’ll be back in blue jeans and a T-shirt. What’s nice is, NOW I have the option.

I’m back home, still wearing my mini skirt, and just about to read a story to my kids. But before I do (and they didn’t know I was going to do this) I thought it might be interesting to have you kids say something about how you feel about your Daddy and the way your Daddy looks at the moment.

MELANIE: We’re going to start off with the oldest, Keith. He’s eleven years old, he’s into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Nintendo games and… what else?

KEITH: Ummmm… snakes!

MELANIE: Snakes! Okay. And how do you feel about what your Daddy is doing?

KEITH: The only thing I care about is his sense of humor. If he loses that, I’ll kill myself!

MELANIE: (Laugh) Well, apparently you haven’t lost yours! Anything else? I mean, is it causing you any problems or anything? I mean, honest now… we really haven’t talked about this.

KEITH: No, not at all. I’m used to saying, “Melanie”, when I call and ask for you.

MELANIE: How about your friends?

KEITH: I didn’t tell them yet.

MELANIE: How about the ones you’ve had over when I’ve looked a little… odd?

KEITH: They didn’t say anything.

MELANIE: They didn’t say anything?

KEITH: No. I told a few friends about it and they didn’t care that much.

MELANIE: Okay, now here’s the youngest, Mindi. She’s seven years old, and she’s into (of all things) carpentry. She’s also into artistic things. She enjoys “My Little Pony”, also likes the Ninja Turtles and she has some things to say too! Go ahead….

MINDI: I’m also into hamsters and I’ve got three boyfriends.

MELANIE: Okay. Now, what about what I’m doing. What do you think?

MINDI: Well, I think its kinda odd, ’cause sometimes I bump into your you-know-whats. (laugh) What I say to my friends is, “Guess what! My dad’s turning into a woman!” And they say “WHAT?!?” And then they start laughing.

MELANIE: You really told your friends about this?

MINDI: Uh, huh.

MELANIE: I’ll be darned. Well, that’s interesting. So, do any of them believe you, or do they think you’re just pulling their leg?

MINDI: They think I’m just pulling their leg.

MELANIE: Okay, so now were going to read a story. We’re all together – I have a kid under each arm. What are we going to read today Mindi?

MINDI: CINDERELLA!!!!

MELANIE: Okay, bye for now, because I’ve got to do my FATHERLY duty here and read a story.

December 4, 1990

Yesterday I was back at Universal Studios again, working on the post production for “Social Suicide”. I decided that this time I wanted to wear something a little bit sexy, so I put on my favorite brown skirt, a little western blouse with a white fringe, did my hair up and put on a little extra make-up and went to the studio. Its getting pretty incredible. Nobody gave me even a sideways glance as far as reading me.

I went to the dubbing stage (where we record replacement dialog) and a lot of the actors from the film were there and things were already going when I got there. I joined some of them for some coffee. I had a pretty good time.

Larry called on me to do some of the female voice-overs for the film. Although most of it was as part of a group doing “ummms” and “errrrs”, but if you look at the “fart scene” and a lady in the audience gags because the stink bomb is working, I did the gagging on that. Those sounds, by the way, were modeled after my grandmother when she had a stroke. Everytime she got phlegm caught in her throat she made this sound. So, my grandmother’s “stroke gasping sound” is now memorialized on film.

I was a little scared to go out into the sunlight to the commissary because I still have a lot of bumpiness from electrolysis and harsh light shows up the shadows. I just didn’t want to be given away in the middle of such a wonderful day. So, I just remained on the stage, and Larry’s mother shared with me some fruit she had brought.

The male lead came in and gave me a big hug when he saw me. Later in the day the guy who plays the assistant villain came by and leaned down to me with a hug and I gave him a kiss on the cheek. That’s what I call a good day.

There was an actor in the film who was there who is also (by coincidence) in the gender support group I go to. He has told me before that he had some sexual interest in me. He sat next to me for most of the day and reached over three or four times to pat me on the knee. He told me he thought I had sexy legs. Now that’s half repulsive because he was taking advantage and half enjoyable that he was turned on by me.

Later on, Larry, his wife Victoria, a female friend of theirs, the actor who was interested in me, and myself went to dinner. I had told Larry about this fellow’s interest and said I was worried he would corner me after dinner. Larry said he would try to detain him in conversation. So, after the dinner broke up, Larry began to talk to him and I tried to make a quick get-away.

I went to the back of the restaurant, walking to my car as quickly as I could without looking like I was running. I heard his footsteps coming up behind me as I walked. I almost made it when I heard him call my name from behind. I turned around and there he was.

Here I was, alone with him in the alley. He started a conversation, we started to talk and he began to ask me a lot of personal questions. I answered as honestly as I could, without getting into areas I would rather not. Then he asked how I felt about men. I told him that he already knew from the support group that I enjoyed my relationship with Andy, but now I want to concentrate on Mary and the kids. I told him that the only way I would have another relationship would be if I had surgery and Mary couldn’t deal with it and I was on my own.

I was trying to let him down easy, telling him that I did find him attractive and he had a lot going for him, but I just couldn’t get involved at this time. I said I couldn’t allow myself to be tempted by other relationships because I might not be able to hold back if I opened up even a little bit. He took that as a cue, stepped forward, gave me a hug which I read as a goodbye hug, but he turned it into a groping session.

He copped his feel of my breasts and pulled my ass toward him and basically tried to stick his tongue in my mouth. I held my lips as tight as I could, but was afraid to be too aggressive to make him release his grip because of what I feared he might do. Suddenly I began to realize what the fear is that haunts a woman. I was afraid that if I struggled too hard in my attempt to get away that he would become so aggressive that I would be in danger. Perhaps I would even get physically hurt.

I don’t hold any belief that he would ever do such things, but that was my fear. I couldn’t understand his mentality. When I was going out with girls, I could not bring myself to put my hand on their shoulder without great hesitation and incredible feelings of violating their personal space. I did not want to violate their personal space. And yet here was this individual moving in on mine, touching parts of my body and trying to stick his tongue in my mouth when I was clearly not interested. I couldn’t understand this. I just do not understand men. I lived in their world, but I feel like I’ve been a spy in their midst.

Ultimately, we split apart when someone came into the alley. I went over to my car at that time, finding it an excuse to get over there. I said goodbye and got in. Those people left, and he stood in front of the open door so I couldn’t close it. He leaned down, fondled my breasts again, touched me on the lips and tried to put his tongue in my mouth again.

Just then, someone came into the alley walking their dogs, he stood up, I used the opportunity to close the door. I rolled up the window, he turned back to the car and knocked on the window. I opened it just a crack, said “Goodbye” and rolled it back up. I started the car and left.

On the way home, there were some headlights behind me, one of which was a car that was getting very close. I don’t know if he was following me or not, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I made a quick turn down an alley, darted in and out of a few places and then went home, so he would not know where I lived. The whole way home I kept spitting into a cup I had in the car, just in case any of those germs got in my mouth. When I got home, I gargled with several glasses of salt water.

When I talked to Mary about it, she laughed. And then she said it probably wasn’t all his fault, because even though I was saying no, I was probably sending out all kinds of signals a mile wide saying yes! She is probably right. I could’ve left several times during the conversation, but I wanted to explain myself so that he wouldn’t feel badly about it. Actually, I was probably hoping he would do something anyway, and he did. I just didn’t want it to go that far.

I mentioned it to Chris this morning and said I would have to find a way to flirt without encouraging men to put me in that kind of position. And he said, “Can’t be done.” He understands what males go through. I obviously don’t.

I guess I’m in the same boat with the rest of the women of the world, who just can’t understand the aggressive animal. Many women want to feel pretty, she wants to feel attractive, but she doesn’t want to be glommed on against her will. She wants to be courted, she wants to be romanced. She seeks an emotional bond. He who provides it becomes physically attractive to her because the woman perceives in him protection from the other hungry animals she sees out there. Maybe its unfair to see men in that light, but it is accurate to the way many women think.

Men are aggressive – much more aggressive than women, in general. As a result, they jump all over women in many, many ways. I have been fortunate insofar as the people I am working with know where I came from and therefore do not jump on me with the same intensity. However, with those who have not known me, I have experienced a great degree of second class status. I have been talked right over when I had already begun to speak at crew meetings. I have been ignored in a conversation after saying something as if I were completely invisible.

I had heard women talk about this and thought it was exaggerated. It is not. Lately, I have been receiving a lot of comments while working like “Klutz” and “Bozo”, being treated pretty much like other women in similar situations. At first, it was rather amusing to be classed with them. But then I began to realize I really was being demoted to second class along with them. That was not quite so amusing at all.

It turns out that those comments continually put one (in their minds) in a second class position. It ostensibly elevates those making the comments to a higher status. In jest, women are made to become more subservient and put the man more in control. It is an unequal world. It is still going on. And women, as aware as they have become, have no conception of the magnitude of what’s going on unless they really dig into it, because they have been living with it all their lives.

Being pretty, and being feminine, and kind and nurturing does not have a damn thing to do with being inferior or second class to male aggression. The approach of women is different and is much more successful at providing emotional situations of growth and stability. Without this secure base of operations, everything would be in shambles.

If women built the world, it would be around the rocks and streams and trees, not over them. However, not nearly as much in an aggressive sense would have been accomplished. Men do things because they can. Every ability that is learned or developed must be used.

Therefore, a lot of harm befalls the world in terms of war, and territoriality and oppression. A common catch phrase states, “All wars were started by testosterone.” Women have only started wars when they became leaders in a male designed hierarchy and assumed the role of a man.

Without men, progress would have been severely limited. We might have ended up still living in the caves. But without women, mankind would have destroyed itself eons ago, and there would be no present, much less a future. We need each other. But we are both equally necessary parts. Only with each other as equal partners can we succeed in building a future.

Now, back to practicalities. I must learn that if I am to live the life of a woman, I too must assume that mantle of fear that every time I walk out on the street, some man can reach out and grab me and thrust himself upon me because he is driven by urges over which he has no control.

Having had that physical equipment and hormonal makeup, I understand those urges. My saving grace has been that I did not have the mentality for it. Therefore, although the physical functioning existed, the motivation to use it did not.

However, I can see from my experience in the parking lot, that men who have both the mentality and the physical urge are very dangerous.

December 9, 1990

Yesterday I went with my family to Disneyland – the first time in three years. I was really depressed that morning as I got dressed, because I felt I had lost Melanie somewhere. I felt uncomfortable because I (I discovered) I was becoming a different person, not just a different persona. I spent the morning trying to throw myself hard into macho mode. And for maybe an hour there I was successful. But there was something missing. I managed to make it through the whole day without ruining it for my family. I didn’t have and blow-ups, no emotional problems.

Lot’s of people stared at me. I’m not paranoid about this. Everytime I’d get in one of those zig-zag lines waiting for a ride, people would be looking me over. I took a look in a mirror and I looked awful. I wasn’t male; I wasn’t female. I looked like some weird amalgam of both and uglier than sin. I knew I looked (at the least) peculiar.

Occasionally, I’d get read as female. I know because every once in a while one of the kids would call me Daddy and I would respond with the voice that I use for Dave, and it would cause some heads to turn. But — I got through the day okay. It seems I have learned to play by my own rules and others can take me or leave me.

As a trial experiment to see how I feel about that, I went into 7-11 this morning, knowing that I’d probably get read because I haven’t slipped completely back into Melanie. And sure enough, I was immediately read by the man at the counter. And on my way out I know I was read by the woman coming up to the counter. As I went back to my car, she and he were laughing and staring, I mean, literally. You can imagine the stereotypical paranoid fear as I looked up through my windshield and they were both looking directly at me and laughing their hearts out. I was something to be fully enjoyed as ridiculous and funny. And you know… it didn’t bother me at all.

I simply smiled back and started my car. I had no need to rush and get the hell out of there. I took my time and let them laugh all they wanted, because I was right inside. If you’re right inside, it doesn’t matter how things are on the outside.

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not. The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently. If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect. That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.

FEATURES

A PHYSICAL DISABILITY AND THE TRANSSEXUAL

By Denise Anne Fell
(DeneseAnne on AOL)

Two subjects that currently are considered hot on the talk show circuit are disabilities and transsexuals or gender issues in general. Yet these are two subjects that are considered different and separate.

Take into consideration a disabled transsexual. Is there any reason that a disabled person should not be allowed to have their dreams of becoming the person they were meant to be. What comes first? The disability or transsexualism. Interesting question. It is my intention to show that a physical disability should not deter one from reaching out and grabbing their dreams. I am such a person. I am bilateral amputee. To say the least this has made my transition to date most interesting.

My background is no different from any of the older transsexuals on this board. I dreamed of being a woman from early childhood. I experimented with dressing whenever I could and being the oldest and assigned baby sitting duties I was afforded the opportunity on occasion.

I grew up in the 50’s and early 60’s. However, during this time this was not a subject for discussion. It might have been discussed behind closed doors, but as I grew up I felt that I was the only person in the world that felt this way. I honestly believed that if I told anyone of this desire I would be locked up for the rest of my life. It was a very frightening and confusing time of my life.

I grew up doing what society expected me to do. I was a male and to my knowledge at that time there was absolutely nothing that I could do about that. I dropped out of high school at the young and tender age of 18 and joined the U.S. Navy and went off to boot camp. I had my GED Equivalency Diploma months before my class graduated and I eventually ended up on submarines. This is something that had always fascinated me. The Silent Service. The exploits of some of the World War II submarines and submarine commanders were legendary. I felt that I had found my notch in life.

One day while visiting a local bookstore I found the book that I was looking for (“The Man With The Golden Gun”) and on the next rack a book that caught my eye and forever changed my life. I found Christine Jorgensen’s autobiography. The cover caught my eye and I read and re read this book. The relief to find that I was not alone.

My years in the Navy continued and I received a medical discharge on October 1, 1975. The doctors had diagnosed me with a bilateral knee disorder because I had pain in my knees and I was falling down. This was the beginning of a long road of self-discovery, not only to find out what the physical problem was, but finding out who I was.

My marriage ended. I lost my children and I was miserable. My first attempt of discovering who I was failed. My parents totally rejected the person known as Theresa. This was the first name that I chose.

The condition kept getting worse. I had more episodes of falling down and was eventually put into leg braces and crutches to get around. At that point the crutches were more for balance than anything else.

I began to have other physical problems. I began to lose bladder and bowel control. It became more and more difficult for me to get around on braces and crutches and I began to get painful spasms that would cause me to wake up at night screaming in pure agony.

The doctors tried all the medications (beta blockers) on the market for blocking spasms originating in the spinal cord. I had adverse reactions to all of them. I was at convinced that I was going to spend the rest of my life in pain or zonked out on prescription pain relievers. I was taking large doses of Tylox or Percocet just to get by.

I was then told about a procedure that could help stop the spasms. This is called a rhizomoty. This is where the nerves in the spinal cord are burned with radio waves and it is used to help control severe spasms. The only problem being that the nerves can regenerate if they are not burned completely through. I had two such procedures. The procedure is extremely painful and in my case did not last.

About 18 months after the second rhizomoty the spasms returned and the pain was even worse as the nerve impulses were traveling through damaged nerves. I was tired of the pain and I was tired of no help from the Veterans Administration. I went to a private neurosurgeon with my health insurance and after consulting with him I was given two choices. They were a cordectomy or amputation of the lower legs.

Not an easy decision to say the least. Two things helped me make up my mind. Keep in mind at the time I was living as a male, trying to be the person that society wanted me to be. I was not happy, but everyone else was. From my experience in playing wheelchair basketball I knew that people with a complete spinal cord lesion had some very bad problems. The worst being loss of sensation and the pressure sores that were caused by this. Also, I would have lost the ability to have sex. Not a real important issue, but still something to be considered. I opted for amputation.

On September 6, 1990 my legs were amputated through the knees. The amputation is called knee disarticulation and I went home from the hospital 4 days later. I was sore, but I was healing.

I went to some physical therapy and learned to walk on prosthesis, but they proved to be cumbersome and not practical as they were so heavy. I opted for using a wheelchair. I was far more mobile and it really gave me greater freedom.

My life really turned to the pits and I began to realize that the only thing that was going to make me happy was to be me. It took quite a while, but in early May 1992 I wrote the doctor that had interviewed me and accepted me for SRS years before and told him that I was ready to get on with the program.

I received my hormones and gave myself the first injection on May 20, 1992 with the second on June 6, 1992. The injections then followed every other week to this date. After the first couple of injections I really began to feel a sense of well being. I also began to experience the first mood swings. Nothing bad, just wanting to cry for no reason, etc. Life was certainly getting interesting. I also had a lot of tenderness around the nipples and was getting some slight swelling.

In less than 4 months I had so much swelling that it became obvious that something was happening to me. I was letting my hair grow and people began pointing fingers and whispering. I knew that it was time to do something so I went to mid-level management and told my story. In short, I was told that I could begin my transition on my job and that I would not be harassed. My co- workers were told and a tentative date was set for me to begin my Real Life Test. I actually began 4 days earlier than originally planned.

I can honestly say that one of the hardest things that I have ever done was go through the back door of the Federal Building on November 12, 1992. This is the day that Denise made her debut to the world. I went straight from work to the mall and rolled up and down several times. It was a Thursday afternoon and the mall was basically empty. I watched and I noticed nobody staring or giggling. It gave me a wonderful self confidence boost.

I have lived for almost one year as a disabled female. My outlook on life is great. I am accepted as a woman. My greatest pleasure comes when I am addressed as Miss Fell.

I will admit that there are things that I cannot do. I cannot walk in high heels and I can’t walk and watch my breasts bounce, and they are large enough to bounce. I can’t change my own light bulbs, but I could not do that before I went full time. My point is that I honestly believe that a disability should not prevent a person working towards their goal. It does not matter if it something simple or something as complex as being accepted for SRS.

In my situation, I knew who I wanted to be, I became disabled and now I am on the verge of achieving this life long dream. A disability can come into someone’s life unexpectedly anywhere along the way. I sometimes refer to able bodied people as TABs (Temporally Able Bodied) because you never know when you will take a fall, be hit by a drunk driver or be struck by a disease that can change your life forever.

The experience that I have gained has given me great insight. I look at life and I have come to some conclusions regarding the gender issues. I speak from experience. Although a transsexual does in fact diagnosis their own disorder, it should never be done without guidance from a trained professional. No matter what your background is. If you are a doctor, nurse, lawyer, psychologist, etc. You should seek guidance from an outside source. There could be far more involved than just gender issues. Also, one should never experiment with hormones without medical guidance. Hormones are a very dangerous drug and they are nothing to be played around with. You can kill yourself or cause great bodily harm. I know a PhD that is writing a book on hormones and the transsexual. In cases where excessive hormones are taken, taking female hormones can actually work the opposite and masculinize your body, doing more harm than good. This is just a word of caution.

In closing I would like to say that a physical disability or even your physical appearance should not deter you from reaching your goals. There are lots of disabled and quite homely generic females out there. Seek professional help with your hair, your makeup, etc. Most of this help is free of charge. All you have to do is be honest with the sales person and ask. You will be surprised on how helpful sales people can be. Remember, you may have to work a little harder to reach your goal, but it makes it all the sweeter when you reach it.

Six Days – A Journal of Holiday En Femme 1993

by
Gwendolyn Ann Smith

Day 1 – November 9th, 1993

Actually, the convention won’t start until tomorrow, but things are happening today. Picked up Stephanie (Stephanie2) from the airport today. It can be very interesting looking for someone when you have no idea what they look like. I just kept looking at every single male coming off the plane that could be a crossdresser, until I saw the auburn-headed person with stubble, dangling earrings, and a white-and-polka-dot sun hat. We got her luggage and headed home, and awaited the arrival of the next straggler, Breanne (BreanneC), who showed up just before I had to leave for work.

Later that evening, my wife and the two of them headed off to my work, Stephanie Crossdressed, and Breanne did not. Breanne, I may add, had never been -out yet, having been only a -closet dresser to this point.

Once I made it home, we stayed up until around 3:00 in the morning, just chatting, and doing our best, obviously, to save $3.50 an hour in AOL connect charges.

Day 2 – November 10th, 1993

A whirlwind day, this one. After getting up early in the morning, we hit the mall to collect some outfits for Breanne (who only had a formal for the banquet to her name). Needless to say, each and all of us came back with a bag or two. Breanne, who is known online for her -Clam Smileys+ (example: (:) ) fell in love with a toy in one store, a clam hand puppet. unknown to her, it was bought. We also, of course, found plenty around the specialty shop that we would have been more than happy to have bought – if we had unlimited funds, of course. Then it was off to the Target cosmetic department to fill Bree+s make-up case.

That evening was the first night of the convention. An informal dinner was held, and we found ourself, again, chatting through the hours. We also, once here, caught up with Danita (Danita TS, who was, I should add, dressed as outrageous as you would expect) and Rhonda (Rhonda tv). Also, everyone was able to see and meet some of the -movers of the Tri-Ess and Holiday En Femme – Virginia Prince, Christine Hochberg, Kymberleigh Richards, Kathy Helms, and others.

Day 3 – November 11th, 1993

This morning I absolutely panicked, due to a late start, I had to rush to get my morning shave and make-up done so as to allow myself on to the train up to Santa Barbara for lunch and shopping. We made it, and just in time. Thankfully Breanne picked up our registration badges, else we would have never made it. Breanne chose not to dress this day, as she didn’t have any flats to wear for the event.

Once on our way, we finally met Peggy (KosmicKat). I should add, by the way, that she is a -genetic female (I can’t stand terms) who just so happens to like crossdressers. Also on the way up my wife, Bonnie, and I talked and took photos for a pair of reporters for the Los Angeles Times.

After lunch, our little group headed uptown to shop, the opposite way of the main body. We had fun, though Steph did run into some minor trouble on her way to the bank. Seems one of the male population didn’t think that Steph+s attire was becoming…

On the way back from Santa Barbara, again on the Amtrak, we spotted a whale in the Pacific Ocean, another first for many of us.

We also hit the vendor room, and Bree found a wig she was happy with, while Stephanie found a white gown she could not live without, but did.

In the evening was a dinner, which went well, with only a minor glitch. This was Breanne+s first out, this night. She was a little nervous, but was doing well. Unfortunately, one thing happened. A friend of mine from the local chapter of Tri-Ess, Teri Lynn, came over to chat, and gave what would amount to a newcomers speech, dealing primarily with the crossdresser, their guilt, and the wife not accepting. The one bit of information not given was that Breanne had separated from her wife three days before heading down for the convention. Her and Peggy went careening off, and we then told Teri Lynn what had happened, much to her dismay. Eventually, Breanne calmed down, and we again finished off the night with a rousing session of conversation, this time until around 3:00 a.m.

Day 4 – November 12th, 1993

Decided to forgo the trip to NBC Studios, the Walk of Fame, and the Universal City Walk, and rest up. This morning, though, we received a rap on the door from Danita, telling us that Rachel Ann (another local friend) had seen us in the paper. We got ahold of a copy (or five) and, sure enough, on full color, we were on the front of the San Fernando Valley section of the Times!

Shortly thereafter, we again hit the vendor room. This time, Steph had to try on the dress. Down there were two sets of reporters, both for local stations (channel 9 and 13).Bon and I talked with the reporters, and Steph -vamped+ for the cameras in the rush she was experiencing. Needless to say, the gown was bought, and it was decided to become the attire for the trip to a local play house for a Cole Porter review.

While waiting for that trip, disaster again struck, much the same as before, Teri Lynn came over to smooth things out and apologize, and Breanne again rushed to her room. We all decided to miss the show and try to give our sister a helping hand.

After several hours of chatting, two pizzas, and several cokes later, all was well, and Breanne had discovered the joy of dangling earrings. Steph had a powerbook, so we stopped online, and had received mail from Melanie Phillips (Melanie XX) in reply to our own mail asking to meet her while we were in her town. She had left us her phone number, and, even though it was late, we called, and decided to go over just then!

Melanie was a gracious hostess, and we chatted until almost daybreak. I am glad that Melanie only makes it online during the gender forum, and not for the occasional -TV Chat+ room, for she has a wit that is at least as sharp as each of ours. We even ended up having toast, pancakes, and bacon – which lead to an infamous take off on the voice tape, her -new cooking video,+ known as -Makin+ Bacon with Melanie.+

Late that evening was my turn to break up. Those of you that donut known what Melanie looks like, let me assure you, she is a knockout. I am on a similar road to hers, though where she has now traveled several miles down the road of femininity (she is a post-op TS), I have only recently made my way to the path of transgenderism. I looked through her -transition book+ (a collection of photos of both Dave and Melanie), and began to reflect upon myself, and just how long it will be until I get my own transition book to that point. I cannot thank my wife for her support that night.

Day 5 – November 13th, 1993

Today, once we finally rolled out of bed, missing both the breakfast and lunch gatherings, and the couples events. We grouped and began to prepare for the events of the day. Breanne had decided last evening to sign up for a facial that day, and, once done, she was an absolute knockout – this also did something else for her – gave her an incredible dose of confidence.

Also while down in the vendor area, we discovered that the tape that was shot was -shared,+ and that it had been distributed to channel 4, channel 7, and to CNN – which, I may add, alarmed us all, though Stephanie was especially bothered, as this was not something she was ready to broadcast so far. She eventually saw the broadcast, and she, or us, did not appear in it.

We then headed over to the local mall, looking for the studio that was to do a glamour photo of yours truly and her wife – but they weren’t there! After a phone call or two, we discovered the problem – we were at the wrong mall! Steph, Peggy, and Breanne stayed behind while the two of us and Danita headed to the studio several miles away in a tiny, crowded mall. We made it, and it was truly a wish fulfilled. You see, my father is a photographer, and I would love to have him do such a set of photos, but I have not told him, and, if I did, I doubt he would be happy. Actually posing for the camera that afternoon was one of the most enjoyable things I did all week, and I hope that some of the photos are not marred by my tear-filled eyes.

The lateness of all this, though, meant that we arrived late for the formal banquet. Stephanie was a basket-case, having already imagined all sorts of horrible consequences to our trip over to the studio. Bonnie and I made it to our room, tossed on our gowns, and headed down.

The banquet was fine, though made quite long with speeches, awards, and the occasional amount of posturing. High point for all of us was Stephanie accepting an award for her chapter of Tri-Ess, Beta Gamma in Minnesota (which, I may add, we are still wondering if it is a state : ). After the dinner wound down, we tried to get a room to view a videotape of the media+s coverage of the event, to see if we appeared. No one could find a VCR, however, so we scratched those plans and went to bed. Well, some of us, as Breanne was not at all ready to undo that makeover, and she made a few trips around the block.

Day 6 – November 14th, 1993

Well, this is it. After a brunch, where we saw Rhonda in male drab for the first time (and, I may add, what a change), some goodbyes, and re-packing for the journey out, we headed for our home, including Breanne, Peggy, Danita, and Stephanie. I think both Stephanie and I were doing our best not to lose it, though we were fighting fatigue as well as our emotions, and had a hard time letting go of Bree and Peggy when they started out together towards their individual homes, and keeping our emotions in check again as Steph gave out gifts of jewelry to us all (and thank you Steph for the earrings, they will be the first I wear after the studs).

Eventually, though, it was time to go to the airport to send Steph off, and we headed on our way. The trip there was subdued, to say the least, and we held together well until in the terminal awaiting boarding. That is when Bonnie and I presented Steph with our gifts – an origami figure (Bonnie is quite accomplished at that art) and an earring and necklace set in gold with -diamonds+ and -emeralds,+ in the shape of a heart. I had seen that set before con, and had thought about getting it then, but bought it that day for someone who has the perfect white gown for it.

That was all we could take, and our emotions took us there. If I could have held her a little tighter, maybe she wouldn’t have been able to board, and we could’ve taken her back for good. I do know it has been a long time since I have cried that hard in an airport and watched that plane take her away.

On the side of the little 737 she boarded was a red heart – a symbol of love. I wish that all my friends at Holiday En Femme could have seen it too, because it was my heart too, on its way with Steph, that is, the parts that already hadn’t gone with all the others. It will take a long time before I can’t remember that heart, and all that it meant for me.

“Based On A True Story”

excerpts from the transition diary of Katherine Collins

Introductory note * November 15, 1993

Somehow Melanie Phillips and I cooked up the idea that I would make submissions to The Subversive, which addressed -the spiritual side of transsexualism+. Ever since we agreed to that, I have been wondering what form to give it. It is not that I have nothing to say on that subject, but rather, far too much.

Several times a week, I write a few thousand words in my -transition diary+, detailing thoughts or feelings or events. I have been doing it regularly for almost two years now. This writing is amazing to look back on. Every phase is so distinct, every step forward so tentative and yet momentous, and then so quickly left behind and forgotten as new developments overwhelm the old. Inevitably, I hope to have the resultant bulky tome published at some point – heavily edited, one hopes, perhaps with garden shears.

The -spiritual side+ of the transition is proving to be the most important part of it, but also the most elusive. I am not forming precepts or coming to definite conclusions. My spiritual growth is a blind grope down a path I have never imagined; and so what I want to do is share with the readers of The Subversive some of the stages of that journey as I have experienced them. In this and future issues, I propose to publish some edited excerpts from my diary – not the whole diary, as Melanie is doing, but in my case only those bits which bear upon spiritual matters. So you will be spared a lot of my personal agonies over my appearance and my relationships and my work and finances, although all of that, too, is of course part of the larger story of any transsexual+s life.

I started seriously working toward my transition in April 1992, first by just -dressing+ part time in public, and, luckily, finding a partner (now an +ex+) who was able to help me explore my female sexual side. I spent over a year working on my appearance, in order to make -full time+ possible, and now, since July 1993, am -living full time+, taking hormones, and day by day altering my social persona in the eyes of all who know me.

These first two excerpts are from September and November of 1992, when I had just recently started therapy and electrolysis, and the whole process was still all new.

Excerpt One: -Splinters of the Infinite+ * Sept. 1, 1992

It never ends now. This transition is on my mind nearly all the time. It takes a lot of my energy, just thinking about it; and more energy, doing anything about it.

Day by day I see the new self emerging – sometimes summoned forth through applications of makeup and through careful dressing – and sometimes simply there, by surprise, staring me in the face from the mirror.

I am getting used to it, but it is also an astonishing situation. Sometimes it feels as if I have fallen into a dream, as if everything I am saying is the fantastic prattle of dreams, and that I shall awaken and shake myself and say, how incredible.

I look at myself in the mirror and realize how deeply into this dream I have fallen. It is infinite, like the reflected galleries of a hall of mirrors – the reality of my profound changes reverberates through my personal time and space, altering my relationship with the world, and with the cosmos. The dream is deep and multi-layered, and new meanings flash as one rounds every corner. And the infinite speaks back, and like the mirror, affirms what I know is there. It says, -Yes, I know.+ And it says, -Yes+.

I had two visions – splinters of the infinite, sent my way, and through me. They are among the more palpable of the affirmations I have been receiving.

Both came to me in the same evening, several hours apart. Both came while I was being held by Carol.

The first: suddenly I was present in another time and place, in another body, in another life, in almost another world. It was the early days of civilisation, in Mesopotamia or Sumeria. We were thin brown people, Carol and I, poor, in a hot dry land. This harshness was to us simply the human condition, and our comfort was that my scrawny female body was being held by my husband, who was also small and thin and who loved me and wanted to make love with me.

And peculiar words came to me – -At last my bones are wanted upon this earth.+

I don+t think I have ever felt before that my body, and my self, as one, were welcomed and desired. I have been ill at ease on earth, like an unwanted guest. Inhabiting that brown body, so nearly nothing but bones, and its bones so nearly just another bit of brittle debris in a dry landscape, paradoxically made me feel more desired, and more at home in the world as a woman, than if I had suddenly been transformed into a buoyant pin-up queen. I was desired from the bones outward. My husband+s arms around the frail package which held my soul gave me a sense of completeness, which echoed through to today, from the life of that person I perhaps once was, to the life of the person I am becoming.

Later – much later – lost in the wilds and visions of sexual energy, I felt strength and power running through me. My articulate imagination labelled it for me, with symbols I already knew. I knew them, but had never felt them within me before.

It was the female energy which in Puritan times was labelled as witchcraft. It is that energy which women today are reclaiming, and dedicating to the Goddess, and channeling through themselves once again. The symbols were of the supernatural: of spirits and fairies and magic, of demons, and of the dead and the living. They came from somewhere on or near the earth, and arched their way, through me, toward the sky. The dead yawned toward the heavens, and the living were rooted in the earth, and all the spirits between were in a twisting cycle, with energy far beyond my control.

I have no rational understanding of what I felt, of what came through me. It was a gift, for a moment, which I hope I will receive again.

I think there is no turning back in this process; it+s far too late for that and I am far too certain of my direction. So whether it is all a dream, or stark reality, I am living it now.

Excerpt Two: -Ghosts In The Hall+ * November 20, 1992

I feel a marked dissonance with my own body. Saying that, I realise it is almost the textbook definition of what being trans-gendered is all about. Still, it is currently disturbing me more than it has in quite a while. I catch sight of myself in the mirror – in either women+s or men+s clothes – and I am shaken. The appearance is so far from what I feel I am, that it is discouraging and depressing.

Despite the success of my hair additions, which give me a full, bushy head of long hair, when I look at my face in the mirror I see behind that to the greying, balding, middle-aged man which is my natural appearance. This dissonance is repeated when I survey my entire body, and see the portly stomach of the middle-aged man.

Then the dissonance rises to a din, when I hear the voices of those girls and women I might have been, but have never been, and will never be.

They are like ghosts running through the halls of my apartment. They surround me and follow me. Sometimes they follow faithfully like a shadow but of a different shape, and sometimes they run off in some other direction. At times I can follow – but other times I definitely cannot.

I have written before, at least briefly, about the feeling of having missed out on the childhood, the girlhood, that I wish I had had – and the adolescence, and the young womanhood. Instead I had some other life – not quite somebody else+s, exactly, as I certainly lived it and made it mine. And it made me its own, to some extent. But it was not the life that I should have had, and it detracted from connection with a great many parts of myself.

It is, to say the least, challenging to develop as a middle-aged woman without having been a girl and a young woman. One of the missed connections was with my own sexuality. And now, only recently, one major way that I have been thrown face-to-face with my -lost selves+, with the girls and women I -should have been+, has been through sexuality. Its sly budding, that I missed having as a girl and a woman, I seem now to be having. And through it, I can experience and express the many unfulfilled young personae that I find in myself. I can live them out to some extent.

Even the fears help. Like any young girl, I feel a tremulous fear of the power of sex; but also a reluctance to turn away from it. I feel small and powerless before it, and yet it is coming from me, or through me. It is especially bewildering that my sexuality has the ability to affect others. My fears, my hesitation, my clumsy lack of experience, my confusion and embarrassment, are all conspiring to locate me, psychologically, in the mind of a young girl.

No part of this -transformation+ process has been anything I have expected in advance, or could have predicted. I certainly did not imagine this – the inhabiting of myself by a young girl+s undeveloped self. This can be wonderful, and I’m sure it is -healthy+, but it is also adding to the uncomfortable dissonance between my inner self-image and my outer appearance. It is not my aim, as a middle-aged transsexual, to generally try to live in the world as a teenage girl. This would add infinitely greater absurdity to a social persona which is already going to be hard enough to integrate into the larger society.

The everyday self wants to continue as an adult being, able to handle the rigours of career and social relationships, and of intellectual perception. But the inner self is hungering for experiences – social, not just sexual – which I have not had. I want to get the affirmations I never had as a young person: to be seen and perceived and related to as a tender, budding young woman; to have my sweetness and romanticism, and desire to be pretty and have innocent fun, be perceived as part of a young female personality.

Every experience of maturation that I have had, I had as a -young man+. To actually have those experiences again, this time as a young woman, is of course impossible. But as a replacement, now a powerful magnet exists in anything that is able to tell me, intellectually or intuitively, what it has been like for others and therefore what it might have been like for me.

In part, I am absorbing other people+s memories, in order to have a past. I sometimes feel like the character of Rachel, in the movie -Blade Runner+. She was a manufactured being, a pseudo-human, who was given someone else+s memories so that she would believe she is -real+. For years I have been reading fiction and memoirs by women, at first quite unconsciously choosing it, and have been gaining at least a bit of fellow-feeling with adult women.

Recently, the experiences of younger girls have become more vital to me. In a period of a couple of days, I saw a movie (-The Lover+) about a 15-year-old girl+s sexual and romantic awakening, and then began reading a memoir of the Beat Generation, in which Joyce Johnson vividly recalls her 13-year-old self, uncertainly exploring the world of artists and bohemians.

I sat in bed and read it, captured, as page by page she grows older and her experiences broaden, and I got further inside the details of the life of a girl in New York in the fifties. A spell deepened, which I did not want to disturb, either by stopping reading or by stopping to think too closely. I felt that the hall of my apartment was full of ghosts, moving back and forth. They were an almost overwhelming crowd. The spirits of girls and women had come forth and were a discourse, a traffic, a colloquium and communion of women, oblivious to me specifically, but connected to me, available to me, open to me as one of them. Were they archetypal people, or other people, or fragments of people? Or were they ages and aspects of myself, persons for all the days of my life in which my female self lived silent and dormant?

I have no answer, but that day I was immersed in them, in a warm sea, and they seemed to be passing through my skin, imbuing me with their life.

Perhaps a lot of fragments of people, of personae, are slowly accumulating – all of those things which I might have been, all those experiences I might have had, all adding up. Will they make a whole person whom I can understand some day? Can I ever catch up on all that lost time? Can I, if not re-make my past, at least have a coherent sense of what it might have been, who I might have been, and therefore who I am now?

I need, if not to have a female past, then at least to have gone through layers of growth that can get me to a place of being female as an adult. I cannot leap from male to female, full-grown.

This process does not solve the problem of the physical dissonance, and may in fact make it worse. But I cannot deny the vividness with which I am absorbing new realities, through other people as well as through my own experiences. I know of the ghosts in the hall, in the room, all around me at times, inside me at times.

_ 1993 Katherine Collins

MELANIE’S WORDS OF THE MONTH

“Thought – The killer of Knowledge”

AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Member by State as of October 1993

AK. 1 AL. 1 AZ. 1 BC. 2
CA. 29 CO. 1 CT. 7 DC. 1
DE. 2 FL. 19 GA. 2 IA. 1
IL. 21 IN. 4 KY. 3 LA. 3
MA. 9 MB. 2 MD. 4 ME. 2
MI. 10 MN. 4 MO. 7 MS. 3
NC. 7 NH. 2 NJ. 7 NM. 5
NV. 2 NY. 8 OH. 9 OK. 1
ON. 1 OR. 5 PA. 7 QU. 1
RI. 1 SC. 1 TX. 14 UT. 1
VA. 6 WA. 5 WI. 4 WV. 2
WY. 1 unknown 75

304 attendees on list

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 304 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

GENDER CONFERENCE

Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening. Use Keyword, GLCF, then select Lambda Lounge or Community Room depending on your version of the software. For specific information, directions, or to order back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.

GENDER ISSUES FOLDER

Also, when on America Online, stop by the new Gender Issues folder. This folder contains an ever-growing library of downloadable files ranging from lists of support groups to medical information to pictures of members to back issues of The Subversive. Use Keyword, GLCF, then select Resource Files, then double click on Gender Issues in the list. Upload YOUR files in Resource Files under New Files and Free Uploading.

AFTERGLOW

I don’t know why, but this is the second issue in which I am including some of the “downer” pieces I have written. Maybe I’ve just used up all the happy stuff first? Well, anyway, here is another depressing little poem I wrote about a year ago during some hard times.

My name is Anne,
and I have many friends,
but I wish somebody was proud of me.

So I do what I can,
but the work never ends,
just so someone will be proud of me.

I try to be pure,
I try to be good.
Macho or demure,
I do what I should,
all because I was sure,
that somebody would,
be proud of me.

My mother suffered.
an unfulfilled pride,
not her own, but from others,
and often she cried,
that she hoped she would hear,
in the moment she died,
“Well done!”,
from the One,
who was proud of her.

Now, I know that I suffer,
a similar fate,
and though I am tired,
and though it is late,
these words will not keep,
these thoughts will not wait,
in the hope that somebody is proud of me.

So I fill all their needs,
but no pat on the head,
and I solve all their problems,
in life or in bed,
like my mother,
another,
who soon will be dead,
with no one to say they are proud of her.

It’s too late for me,
but I leave you this charge:
that I’m not alone,
in the world at large.
Their needs are like mine,
and it just takes a word,
but their hearts remain empty,
until it is heard.

We each have the power,
to bring them some peace,
to quiet their fears,
to make their tears cease.
So whenever you see them,
in bar or in pew,
let them know that you’re proud,
and I’ll be proud of you..

Ah, now don’t cry! Its just a poem and I’m all better now! See… 🙂

“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'”

SUBVERSIVE PUBLICATIONS

BEST SELLING NEW VIDEO RELEASE!!!!

Copies sold from California to Maine, Chicago to Finland!

“MELANIE SPEAKS!” In this new video, Melanie Anne Phillips explains how she achieved a new voice for her new role. The program provides exercises in Pitch, Resonance, Dynamic Range, Annunciation, Body English, Vocabulary, and Grammar in a step by step fashion that makes it easy for you to develop your own unique feminine voice and vocal patterns. The “secret” is a special exercise that let’s you develop a truly female resonance that you can turn on or off at the drop of a hat. If you have ever been embarrassed by your voice or have contemplated vocal surgery, see this tape first!!!

Subj: Melanie Speaks
From: JaniceTV
To: Melanie XX

Yesterday I received my tape. How wonderful. You can’t believe how much that it has helped. I’ve been practicing, and on the phone already I can make myself female. The insights on what is Feminine are worth just as much as the voice info. I’m sure that you have noticed more than most of us the great differences between male and female. It really is quite thought provoking. I have noticed especially the power words that I and other males use. Equally I have noticed the submissiveness of most females. Once you start to notice, its hard to believe that you never heard or saw it before. After seeing your tape and how far that you have come, it makes me wish more and more to be female. However, I have a better understanding of what that means!! I would be hard for me now, and in some ways I like it both ways. The main thing in life is to understand yourself and to be happy. With your help and of others, that is happening for me.

Love,
Janice

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 15
November 1993

Melanie Anne Phillips

This goes on my permanent record? Wait… What?

The Subversive | Volume 15

“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'”

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“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'”

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