A Tranny Close to Home

November 27, 2012

In the last year, my lovely Lesbian niece, “L,” began a new relationship. She lives on the opposite coast from me, and so I hadn’t met the new flame until recently, at my family reunion. I had, though, become Facebook friends with her. While glancing through New Love’s FB Friends, I was astonished–and shocked–to see the name and photo of one of the more notorious M2Ts, a young pornographer and Pretendbian, who fancies himself not just a woman, but a butch Lesbian. And who perhaps coined the sick term “ladystick” for the dick he has proudly kept, and believes he is entitled to force actual Lesbians who are real women to submit to sexual assault with.

I fired off a message to New Love, asking her whether this was an actual friend of hers, or maybe just (I hoped) an error, or a friend of friends of friends, or a client, or just what. She answered that yes, Mr. Butch, an infiltrator and perpetrator who violates any women’s space he possibly can, is indeed a friend. And that she, N.L., considers herself an “ally.” And, by the way, as a hairdresser, is responsible for the mess on Mr. Butch’s head, which makes him look as if he’s been sleeping so soundly that pigeons have taken up residence in his hair.

I told her in a few sentences that this little prick is one of my most despised enemies, and that although he knows nothing about me, or even my name, I have made it my business to know all that I can about HIM.

“Well, this should be an interesting conversation,” she replied.

I summed up my horror at this boy’s actions, hatred of women, disrespect, etc., and all she had to say was, “Well, he prefers to be called ‘she.'”

“And I prefer to be called ‘Your Royal Majesty,’ but that doesn’t make me the Queen of England,” one of my snappier retorts to that delusionary mindset.

And so we met. N.L.is a big woman, with many facial piercings and many tattoos, and probably at least 30 years younger than I. She wears rather femmy clothes, loves to cook, and is very good to my niece. And that is what I know about her.

As the weekend wore on, N.L. and I managed to avoid one another for the most part. I began to question whether it would do either one of us any good to actually HAVE that conversation. I was having a lovely time with my sisters and one dear brother and their children. We made music together, went fishing, talked and talked and talked, and I gradually let go the idea that anything I had to say might make a difference to N.L. from the left coast.

It’s been my experience that if someone is schooled enough in Transspeak to call herself an “ally,” chances are that nothing I do or say would change her mind. The Koolaid had clearly been drunk, her mind most certainly made up. I was just an old auntie of her girlfriend, and Mr. Butch imposter was actually a friend of hers, after all.

And so I let it go.

Later on, N.L. asked me if I would be interested in coming out west to perform at a gathering she organizes, which she said was “for women only.”

“And what does that mean to you, for women only?” I asked. I got the answer I expected; women, transwomen, anyone who “identifies” as a woman.

“So if the man who raped you walked in and told you he identifies as a woman, you’d let him in?”

(Much clearing of throat and hesitation)

“That’s a different issue.”

I said, “What makes it different? He IDENTIFIES as a woman. What more evidence do you need?”

“That’s just ridiculous.”

“OK. You think it over, and tell me what makes this boy a woman. His hair? His voice? His ‘ladystick’? Or is it merely his statement to you?”

The weekend wore on, and N.L. never answered the question. She never brought it up again. I never brought it up again. I wanted her to feel comfortable with us, her family. I wanted my niece to know that I was not her enemy. Most of all, I didn’t want to spend the weekend lecturing. I wanted to enjoy the people I love the most in the world, and I wanted to let it alone for a few days. But I was never unaware of this political stance. I never stopped thinking about it. And it is, still, the first thing i think of when I think of N.L.

My niece, however, has been open to things I send her about this issue. She doesn’t say much, but she does, at least, read. And I think she has a fundamental understanding of just what it means to say that transgenderism is the antithesis of feminism. The two are mutually exclusive. And this MEANS something.

And Mr. Pretenbian? He’s still writing blogs, standing up for felons who want out of male prisons by claiming they are now ‘women.’ Still making porn. Still raising money for more porn. And still lecturing radical feminists about how horrible we are. This from a man who was raised by two Lesbians.

When N.L. gives me an answer to my question, I’ll let you know. But take my advice. Don’t hold your breath.