10/08/2009

The Threesome That Killed Mister Allen

Those who know me know I'm intersexed. For those not knowledgeable that's the proper medical term for what most people call a hermaphrodite. I'm biologically, genetically, chromasomally female. I have a uterus and an ovary. However I also have a penis and a testicle, and a genetic blood disorder that makes the invasive surgeries required to correct my genitals too life-threatening for any doctor to go near with a ten foot pole. At birth I had an underdeveloped vaginal opening embedded in a small scrotum, which doctors surgically destroyed as per common practice of "fixing" intersexed children by forcibly assigning them one sex rather than allow a living gray area out into their black and white world.

I was kept at the hospital for the four days it took to cauterize the mucous membranes and sew me up. My parents were belatedly informed that I was a boy and raised me as such, blissfully unaware of the years ahead of them of getting pissy at strangers for telling them what a pretty daughter they had and fighting with me over who I was.

I've been wanting to tell the stories of my little lifetime, given my declining health and the knowledge that I likely won't be around a great deal longer. This way some of me survives online with Hedon, and hopefully whoever takes up the role of Shaman when I'm gone understands the things that made me.

I couldn't choose between the two stories I most wanted to share today so I asked my Twitter friends to vote. Voting results said I tell this one. The reason for the preamble about being raised male is to help you understand some of the things in this story.

After Juvey I was all but broken. For those not easily triggered, or who really want to understand that sentence, go here. at 18, I moved out of my parents' home and didn't speak to them for years. I had always planned on coming out as a woman at 18, abandoning the Witless Protection Identity forced on me since birth. But what happened in Juvey delayed me badly. I was scared to be the real me, fearful because, if I could be so violated in Juvey while still living in the boy disguise, what would happen to me if I was out in the world as a transsexual woman? (I believed since Iwas 7 and saw a 60 Minutes story of a Transwoman's surgery that I was trans, as it wasn't until 7 years ago I learned what had been done to me as a baby).

So for 7 years I puttered miserably through life as an unhappy ugly chubby man, with the closest I ever got to being myself happening only when dressing up for the local weekly Goth Night. I didn't attempt sex til I was 23 and that ended badly. I was miserable, but still too afraid to come out and be me.

When I was 24, single and alone with no friends except some people online, I went downtown into Vancouver for New Year's Eve. I didn't drink, and I wasn't much of a partier. I had no friends to chill with. I just didn't want to be alone and suicidal yet another year. I wanted to be around people even if no one was talking to me.

At around 10 I was nursing a mug of Coke at the bar, staring numbly at the tv behind it, when one of the waitress flagged the bartender and pointed at someone and then at me. The bartender refilled my Coke and said it was courtesy of a pair of impossibly beautiful young ladies sitting alone at a booth.

Nervous as all fuck but curious, I went and asked to join them after thanking them. They smiled and invited me to sit down. My insecurity kept waiting for some cruelty, some "pick on the ugly guy" humour, but they seemed genuine and interested. After 20 minutes they invited me up to their room and the 3rd floor.

While managing to keep my shirt on so they wouldn't see either my bindings or the decently large breasts I kept hidden under them, two gorgeous women, looking like A-List porn stars or pin-up models, women who should easily of been out of my league, fucked and sucked both me and each other, passionately, powerfully, wildly. I'd be lying if I didn't admit it was probably among the best sex of my entire life. They got three orgasms out of me and I lost count with them after 5 or so each. It was truly amazing sex.

Now before you write this off as made-up bullshit for Penthouse's letters page, remember this is ME telling the story, and I don't get happy endings. There's almost always a catch.

We went back downstairs to the bar, and sat for another round of drinks. I should've just smiled and kept my mouth shut as they wrote down their phone numbers for me, but my goddamn insecurities reared their ugly head, and I stupidly asked them.

I was probably the least attractive guy in the bar. Chubby, plain looking, surrounded by fit healthy sculpted studs that were easily more attractive. With all those hot guys in the bar.... why did they pick me.

The brunette squeezed my hand, and the blonde, with a completely straight face and no visible sign of knowing how cruel she was about to sound, said,

"Well, because fat homely guys always try harder in bed, studs never care if we get off, fat dudes put in more effort so the cute girls will like them more."

For a few seconds I was still, absorbing what she'd just said. I quietly took out a ten to cover my drink and a tip, handed them back their numbers, and with tears streaming down my fat ugly cheeks I got up and left. They tried to call out for me to come back and they were sorry but I just kept walking.

I got on the Skytrain and went home, crying the whole way and crying myself to sleep.

The next morning I packed up all my guy clothes into a suitcase, along with all my guy crap like aftershave or cologne, and my breast binding. I took them down by the railroad tracks in New West and dumped everything into an old oil drum and burned it, along with every picture of me as a male adult.

Mister Allen was forever put to rest that day, and good fucking riddance. I've never ever looked back. In the end, after having the best sex of my life ruined by an offhanded blow to my fragile self-esteem, I decided the world would find ways to hurt no matter who or what I was, and if I was going to get hurt by insensitive shallow people, I may as fucking well do it with my make-up impeccable, my tits properly displayed, and a woman in the mirror every day.

So that's the story of the Threesome that killed Mister Allen. Maybe it was a mercy killing. Sometimes I wonder what I'd say to those girls if I met them today. I used to think I'd scream at them for being such insensitive cunts, but I'm old and softened now and in hindsight I know they probably honestly didn't realize how that would sound to me, and that I likely hurt them too by just walking away without another word or their numbers.

So I'd probably just hug them, tell them thank you for motivating me past my fears, apologize for walking out, and let them be.

Do I ever wonder what would have happened to me if I'd stayed? Of course. I'm only human. But what if's mean sweet fuck all in the end. The end result is what you have to live with.

I'm Penny Marie Sautereau-Fife. Mister Allen is long dead, if he ever really lived.

It really was amazing sex though, so at least he went out with a bang.

2 comments:

  1. Wow. Just... wow.

    The sheer senseless cruelty of that comment just robs me of words. I literally do not know what to say.

    I'm glad that the end result was courage and drive and you getting to be you. But worlds aflame, that was ridiculously cruel of them.

    *hugs*

    ReplyDelete
  2. I don't begrudge them it. It got me on the path after all. Well, them and the Velvet Steele incident, which I fucking adore her for. I'll tell you about it some time.

    ReplyDelete

Thanks for commenting, try to NOT be crude or mean-spirited. You can disagree with me without calling me a fat bitch etc.