Belying somewhat my outward appearance, I consider myself gender-fluid. That neither deprives me of anything in particular, nor permits me anything in particular. I have always loved pink, as if it were essential to the fulfilment of my soul, my purpose, my life. Am I a sissy, a faggot? If so, I did not become such. I was born that way. I have always liked girly, feminine things. My voice has remained high, counter tenor in a choir. Pink has always been the colour towards which I most gravitate. Every lesson of value that I have learned through out my life I have learned from a girl, from a women. If I wanted anything at all from a boy or from a man, I had to fight for it, with fists. I don’t break like porcelain, I break like a wave. I have seldom had even a word for boys and men unless they were fem like me. Being always with girls, I was also a girl. My hair was long. I felt at home. If we played house, one of the girls was always the husband or the father; I was always the wife or the mother or the daughter.
Sexual interest was never gender-based. Poised as I was between two genders, I became, self-determined, third-gender, not neuter, not gay, not bi, but inter-omni-sexual. Surely, I would have preferred to be a girl, but as I was not a boy, either, I accepted a place in-between the two. As a boy-girl, I was drawn to sex with boys and men. As a girl-boy, I was drawn to sex with girls and women. With my love of all things pink came my fascination with girls’ clothes, with viewing them, fondling them, dressing up in them. I never went for the glamour, the makeup, but the essence. I kept my hair very long much of my life. I have painted my nails. I like to squat to pee. Naturally, I have always behaved, gestured, and moved more like a girl and then a woman than a boy or a man. From the earliest age, too, my father, who withheld his homosexuality from others, was openly gay with me. He had sensed that common bond, and very early on began to influence the manifestation of my sexuality.
And you thought you knew me… Have you ever look deeply into my eyes? Have you placed your open palm upon my heart? Have you not wondered at my quiet intensity, my intelligent sensitivity? It has been there all along, a lifetime of internalisation. This is not a confession. I am guilty of nothing. Though I like tight places, I have never been in the closet. I venture here, not out, but beyond. Having disembroiled myself from the ravelled, choking maze of caution, this is I, daring enough no other to be.