Damn! If my hands get any more sweaty or shaky, I’m going to drop my books. Taylor said he would meet me tonight to talk, and I really don’t think I can go through with it. I know I need to tell him, and our relationship is moving so fast that I’m afraid he will find out before I get up the nerve to say anything. No! I can’t let that happen. Taylor is my first boyfriend. He is everything I want, and I can’t lose that by being a coward. Besides, doesn’t he deserve to know I’m not what or who he thinks I am? Of course, he does, but shit, it’s so hard. I try daily not to think about it myself, not that I can forget it. How can you not think about your differences when you are in a constant battle to hide them? When I started school in the sixth grade six years ago, I didn’t know I needed to hide. That was a mistake, and it ruined my life for 3 years.
I remember the first day I went to school. I was so excited. I was eleven and starting my first year in middle school. Before that I was homeschooled. I didn’t go out much, but Mom did a lot of field trips. I really should have known something was different. Every time I had to go to the bathroom, it would be time to go home. Just like that, in the middle of the trip, we would leave. She said it was because those bathrooms were dirty and full of germs, but she used them just fine. That first day in middle school was when I learned just what the reason really was.
Continue reading from Love Bytes Reviews here:
Continue reading from Love Bytes Reviews here:
“Raidean! Are you ready yet? I’m going to be late!” Mom called up from the bottom of the stairs. As I start down the stairs, I look at her. She is beautiful. Her Latino looks made her exotic in this small town. She has long straight black hair that reaches her waist. Today it is braided and put in a bun. Her thin body is hugged by a navy pantsuit that fits her perfectly. Her dark brown eyes look black most of the time, and I love that I got that from her. I love my eyes. She also has the most gorgeous skin, but sadly, she didn’t pass that on to me. I have to work to keep my tan up, while hers is natural. I look more like my father than I do her. I’m tall at 5’5. The doctor said I would be well past six foot by the time I was done growing. I have dark brown hair that is a bit curly if I let it grow out. Broad shoulders, and a strong face with a squarish jaw. I personally don’t like my looks. I feel tall and awkward, but Mom always says I’m handsome like my father.
Today is her first day back to work at one of the only law firms we have here in Needleton, Iowa. She worked there before I was born, so she’s excited to get back. I’m excited too! Finally, I get to go to school! I will make friends and play sports. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m a little nervous about it after the strange “talk” my parents had with me yesterday. They reminded me to always close the stall doors in the bathroom, and never discuss my body parts with anyone. I mean WTH? Who wouldn’t close the stall door? And really! Do kids normally talk about their body parts with each other? I sure hope not. I have never had a friend, but I don't think I could go around discussing my body parts with anyone. Jeesh, my parents are so weird!
I eat a quick breakfast on my way to school, and it gives me an upset stomach because of the butterflies vying for space in there. Once we park, Mom and I walk to the office to get my schedule. As I look around the halls, I get a lot of curious looks back from the students standing in small groups by their lockers. Some of the girls lean in to whisper and giggle to each other. I notice this one boy, he is standing with a group of four other boys, and I feel tingles go through me as our eyes meet. That is strange. I have never had that happen to me. Before I ponder it any further, we make it to the office. Mom introduces us and the lady behind the desk searches for my schedule. She asks Mom to spell my name twice before she finds it. Mom once told me that my name came from her grandfather, so I guess it isn’t a common name around here. As I am musing on how uncommon my name is, my mother is having a heated whispered argument with the lady. I lean in to try to hear, but all I can gather is that Mom’s upset that I have to go to gym class first period. I don’t care. I’m excited to go play some games and sports. When she realizes she can’t change it, she pulls me aside to remind me not to shower at school and to always change in the stalls. Really, mom is freaking weird!
The bell rings as I walk into the locker room, and I quickly see a flaw in Mom’s plan. There are only two stalls and they are being used already. Though I’m happy to report that the stall doors are closed, that didn’t seem to matter because no one is waiting for them to be open to get dressed anyway. So, not wanting to be late to my first class, I start striping down too, only stopping when I get to my boxers. I put on my gym clothes, lace up my new tennis shoes, and off I go. It is awesome! We are playing basketball, and because of my height, I rock it! This is turning out to be the best day in my life! By the time class is over, I am a sweaty mess. No way could I go to my next class like this, so I again go against my mom’s rules and strip down and head for the showers.
That’s when my life ends, or so it seems, for many years. You see, I look completely male, except I don’t have the same lower parts. I don’t have a penis or at least not a complete one. I knew this made me different from my dad, but it was never talked about at home. We just didn’t discuss it. Anytime I asked about it, I was told that I was young, and I would grow one. So I didn’t realize that it was going to be such a big deal. It was. Tony sees this and starts to scream that I am a girl. He is calling me names, and then they all start hitting and kicking me. I fall to the ground and curl into a ball to protect my body as much as I can, while seven boys attack me.
Pain ricochets through my body from a well-placed kick to my spine. The pain is so bad that the nausea is too much to hold back, and I vomit all over the floor where my head lay. I open my eyes a crack, just enough to watch rivulets of blood mix with water before going down the drain. It looks like a lot of blood, but I hope it is due to the volume of water on the floor. A kick to the head makes me black out.
~~
By the time it was all over and done, I had a broken arm, four cracked ribs, a broken nose, a hairline fracture on my femur, and a busted blood vessel in my eye. I woke in the hospital with my parents holding each other, crying. I will never get that sight out of my head. It’s burned into my memory for the rest of my miserable life. The school did nothing, stating that it was the shock of finding out that I was that way, and that it had been my own fault for not telling the school to begin with. So, from that day forward in middle school, I used the office bathroom, I was not allowed to shower at school, and I lived in a hell no one could ever imagine. I was beaten often for being a freak, and the teachers looked the other way while it happened. School was like my punishment for being born. I was different. I was deformed. I was intersex. I was WRONG! That was beaten into me daily, and often more than once a day.
~~
The second bell rang telling me I’m late for chemistry class, so I put some hustle into my steps. This is only the second period out of seven. OMG! This day is going to drag. I need to rehearse what I’m going to say to Taylor. I need to find some way of explaining that even if I don’t look entirely male with my clothes off, I am male. As I sit in my seat I look out the window, and I remember the conversation I had with my mom and dad when I was finally released from the hospital.
~~
I wish I could understand why they didn’t tell me, give me some kind of warning before I started school, but as I look at my parents sitting on the loveseat together, they look like they are about to tell me. Of course, it’s my mom who starts the conversation.
“I want you to know Raidean, that we love you. We don’t blame you for this.” I can hear the “but” before she even says it. “But I really wish you would have followed the rules I set out for you. We didn’t feel you were old enough to understand, and we were waiting for the right time to talk to you about this,” she says.
“Are you kidding me? I’m eleven! I will be twelve next month! When was I going to be old enough to understand that I am a freak!” I am still sitting as I yell at her, but only because the cast on my leg keeps me held captive in my chair.
“Do not yell at your mother like that! This is not her fault!” My dad yells as he stands to pace. I can tell he’s agitated, but I can’t find it in me to care. I’m the one sitting here in pain. I am fighting to hold back the tears of frustration and pain, because when they start to fall, I’m not sure I can stop them. If not their fault, whose is it? Mine? How could this be my fault? So many questions racing around my head demanding attention.
“We just wanted you to be healthy and happy. Think, Raidean, of what the people at church would have said if they knew! I wanted to protect our family from that! I wanted to protect you from that!” What she means to say is she wanted to protect herself from having to accept that she gave birth to a freak.
“I asked you once why I was different from Dad, remember? You told me it was because I was young. That I would grow a penis as I got older. How was I to know that was a lie? How was I to know that I’m not the same as other boys? You homeschooled me all my life, we never covered body types and parts in my schooling. I wasn’t allowed to watch anything on TV unless you approved it, and we have one computer that you monitor!” I was very upset now, how dare she act like she was protecting me! This was all about her self-image, even I could see that. “Please tell me why I’m different!”
“I don’t know why you were born different,” my mother starts “but the doctors diagnosed you with penile agenesis. They wanted us to consent to a sex assignment surgery for you, where they would make you female. We chose to wait on that. We didn’t want to do a surgery that couldn’t be undone. They did a surgery to correct the path of your urethra. The urethra is a tube that carries your urine from your bladder out of your body. After that we decided to wait and see how you developed. You were decidedly male. We made the decision to homeschool you so you wouldn’t feel different or feel pressured to change. And a little because I couldn’t take other people knowing.”
Well, at least she admits it. Selfish! I always believe she is my best friend. I believe she loves me more than this, but I see now how wrong I am.
~~
After that day in the locker room, Tony continued to abuse me often. He was almost always the one to start whatever torture was planned for that day. But I could never get those tingles to go away when he looked at me. There were times I thought I saw interest in his eyes. I can’t explain why, but he was my first crush. God only knows why I would like a boy who spent at least an hour every school day trying to hurt me. Sigh… I am definitely a freak for many reasons.
It took years of abuse before my parents finally decided to move. I was so completely lonely and cut off from my peers. I was hurting so deep inside that I couldn’t see a way out. The pain twisted in my head until I saw what the other kids saw. I just couldn’t handle it. I quit looking in mirrors, and I dressed in big baggy clothes trying to hide. I wanted it to be over. I wanted to be over. I spent many afternoons on my bed thinking of ways to end my misery. I even wrote a goodbye letter to my parents, and that’s what changed their minds. I, of course, didn’t give it to my mother, so I can only conclude that she was snooping and digging through my desk drawers. Anyway, she found the letter and they tried to take me to therapists, but it didn’t work. So, after doing a little research my mother came across a support group for intersex teens and young adults based in Chicago Illinois and, after much debate, decided to move there. That was right at the beginning of my freshman year. During this same time, (and I think the big reason Mom decided to move) I came out to my parents as being gay.
~~
But things started going well at my new school, I felt I was given the chance that I never had in middle school. I knew what I needed to hide now. I was prepared, and was always able to hide in locker rooms.
Taylor always tries to get me to play sports, but I won’t risk that type of exposure. The less time I spend in the locker room the better off I’ll be. I started going to the support group, and it helped a lot. I have met other people like me, and I know I’m not some sideshow freak now. That does not mean I don’t still feel that way. The only difference now is that I feel guilty when I think it. I hate that by thinking I’m a sideshow freak, I am essentially calling my friends from the group the same thing.
It’s hard to live a lie, and feel that I need to hide something that is such a big part of who I am. I mean, a person’s sex and gender make up a lot of who they are. People tell you that’s not true, but it really is. It defines a lot of what society says you should like or do. This may not be fair or right, but in the world of high school, it is the key to success. Because I’m not in sports, I have to be very smart. Because being in between is dangerous ground. I risk being bullied and I will not live that life again.
That is, in essence, my problem. I risk everything I have built up at this new school. The façade I have created to appear normal. I, on the outside, seem to be a strong, dominant male. I do have some features that appear feminine. These features became more pronounced as I have grown older. My figure is a little more feminine. My hips have way too much curve to them. If I don’t cut my hair, my face looks more female. I’m always careful about the way I stand, sit, and talk. I have a deeper voice than a girl, but not by much. Though I’m out at school, I always present as the “man’s man.”
Taylor seemed like a godsend when I first met him. He was the first gay young man that I had met. Or at least that I know of. Even in the group I go to, the closest I came to gay was meeting a lesbian couple. Freda is also intersex and she and her girlfriend go to all the meetings. Anyway, I liked Taylor instantly. We became fast friends, and soon fell into a flirting friendship. I was just learning to spread my wings, and was way too gun-shy to allow it to be anything more than that. We talked about cute boys, his sports, and my studies until it became natural for me to be myself around him, or as close as I could be to the real me. I still hid, and I never gave anything away about my past. As a matter of fact, I outright lied about my past. As far as Taylor knew, I had a great time in middle school. I had friends and was well adjusted. It’s not that I wanted to be something I’m not, it’s that I didn’t want him to know what I was. This was part of the façade that I had carefully built and crafted, and I was not prepared to drop it yet.
After three years, we decided to move our relationship to the next level. Ha! Well, I guess decided isn’t the right word for it. As I walk to my next class, I think back on that night in his room.
~~
I look at Taylor after his foot “accidentally” rubs my leg for the third time tonight. I know he is doing it on purpose, but I let it continue because it feels so good to have someone touch me. My parents don’t even give me a hug in passing. I don’t think either have touched me since I left the hospital after being beaten. I’m sure it’s not about disgust, but that is what my stupid brain keeps telling me. Anyway, the feel of Taylor touching me, lying next to me, is the best and worst feeling. I want so badly to lean over and kiss him. I love him, I have for years, but he would never have me if he knew the truth.
As he slides closer so our shoulders are also touching, I can smell his particular scent. It’s a wonderful mix of cologne, deodorant, and something that is uniquely Taylor. It’s like not eating for a week and then walking into the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. God, if I get this turned on by his smell, what would happen to me if he kissed me? It isn’t long before I find out. Considering I had just thought that and, like he’s a mind reader, he leans in to kiss me. Slowly at first, almost like he is as scared as I am. That can’t be true though, because I know he is way more experienced than I am.
“This okay?” He hesitantly asks.
“More than okay. It’s perfect.” I reply as I let out a substantial breath.
As he wraps his arms around me and draws me closer, I have one thought on my mind: move so he won’t notice my body’s unapparent arousal. He will think I’m just not turned on, but that’s not the case, and I’m not ready to explain about being a freak yet.
~~
I come back to the now, when I hear the bell ring. Damn, so much for my smarts. That is the last bell ending fourth period, and I have no idea what will be on Monday’s test. Sigh… I need to rein in my memories before I float through the whole day without knowing what needs to be done over the weekend for school. It doesn’t matter now anyway. What good will all this ruminating do if I don’t find the courage to tell Taylor the reality of what he is dating?
Everytime we have group meetings, we do some kind of “look inside yourself” crap. Last week at our group meeting, we were to write out ten words that best describe ourselves. My list went like this.
1. aberration
2. miscreation
3. oddity
4. grotesque
5. false
6. defective
7. abnormal
8. damaged
9. incomplete
10. freak
11. and my bonus word was deformed.
And now I need to take this list of words, and more because I was limited to ten words, and explain them to my boyfriend. The guy I adore and love. The guy who is perfect, and ask him to please overlook these and love me anyway.
I can feel the acid rising up my throat, and I make a beeline to the nearest restroom. I just barely make it in time to revisit my breakfast from this morning. As I sit on the floor in the stall, I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t still love me. I need Taylor to understand. I want this to be true love. I don’t know what I’ll do if he turns away from me. He’s more than just my boyfriend. He’s my best friend.
The rest of the day sped by in a blur. There is no way I’ll be able to eat before I go talk to him, so I head to the indoor gym in our house to burn off some nervous stress. After an hour of working out, I go take a shower and get ready to go over to Taylor’s house. I decide I’m going to wear something a little nicer than normal. I have my teal shirt and nice stonewashed jeans. That’s Taylor’s favorite outfit on me. At seventeen, I have surpassed the six-foot mark, at six feet two inches and 178 pounds. Over the years I have let my hair grow just enough to avoid the curls, but to have the shaggy look that is in style now. Taylor tells me all the time how beautiful I am. I still don’t see it. I hate my body with a passion. At this point, I just want to have someone who will tolerate me. I don’t want to spend my life alone.
~~
Three hours later, I am running out of Taylor’s house. Tears of hurt and anger streaming down my face like a torrential rain. He dumped me. He really dumped me! He said he wanted to be with a guy. How fucking low does that make me feel! I am a guy! I am! I told him I could have a surgery. I would make myself look more like he wanted, what he expected to find in his boyfriend. I run the two blocks to my house and collapse on the porch. The sobs won’t stop. It doesn’t matter to me at this point who sees me. What do I care? My life just ended.
Taylor promised he wouldn’t say anything, and that this doesn’t mean we aren’t still friends. He said he wants the experiences that I can’t give him because I didn’t have the right parts. It’s not about me being intesex he said, but he loves giving head. He wants to be able to do that, and how can he do that with me? “FUCK” I scream aloud. The pain I feel now is so much worse than the pain I felt all those years ago when the beating put me in the hospital.
I claw at my face and hair trying to get the physical pain to drown out the mental anguish I feel. How will I look at him tomorrow? I can’t even think of tomorrow. I can’t think of living that long. I hurt so fucking bad! Why? Why can’t someone just love me and accept me for what God made me? I didn’t get to choose how I was born! I didn't get to choose the body God gave me! “I just want to be normal,” I say as the sobs slow down.
Taylor sat and listened. He asked questions. I thought it was going well. I thought he would pull through that initial shock, but that wasn’t the case at all. This is the thing I have feared more than anything in my life. The thing I have feared since I learned how I was different from everyone else. I am destined to be lonely and alone for the rest of my life. It hurts so bad, and it’s so hard to continue, but I will. My life will be hard to navigate, and it’s only just started.
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