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Friday, February 12, 2010

Sixteen and barely kissed.

Things happened to me in this segment which were to be so humiliating, frightening to a transgendered boy. To this day the events would forever brand in my mind feelings I would attempt to hide and suffer within for the very thoughts that came to me.

I woke up in a daze, I was in bed, I was being "fucked" forcibly… Raped… I pulled away and screamed at him to stop. I was afraid for my life. What next I could never win a fight with him he was half my size bigger, was he going to kill me and get rid of my body. I did not know what to do, all I knew was that I had to leave, now. I gathered up my clothes and kept yelling at him as I moved toward the front door. I just opened the door and walked away in the pink baby doll night gown and snuck into a dim-lit spot, I can't remember. I needed to change and walk towards home as fast as possible. It was a hot June evening in Dallas and I found my way to a large street I knew "Forest Lane", where I just walked and walked hiding my face from everyone as they passed, as if they might know about what just happened to a sixteen year old 'boy'.

I wanted to scream, but at who, 'boys don't tell'. I found my way home early the next morning and I showered and fell asleep cuddled in a ball. Who would care in this big city. Sure I tried to confront him the next day, what did it get me, fired that's what it got me. Yes, I cried, I got mad and complained that they fired me for something they hadn't. I put up the defense front so that I could just be angry. I took it out on the only one responsible, my mom, she brought us here. I found my way to late night parties with my friends and their friends, coming home drunk, high, both or worse. Drugs and more drugs was my quest, more marijuana and acid, which I had heard about at the coffee houses just a couple of years ago. By school I was in complete denial and looked for anything to free myself from my reality. My studies World History and Work Experience, basically 90 minutes of history and 90 minutes of experience equals Graduation and goodbye to this town for me.

I had nightmares and bad trips during and on the weekends when I partied on with my friends. I worked my job and partied by night, my car had become my home. I poured money into the interior like most teenagers today. It was my haven and she was fast, too fast but I didn't want to slow down. My character changed in some ways, work hard and live harder when I came into contact with a biker club called the "Rebels" out of Bozeman, MT. My little sister's boyfriend was one of the founding 'Members' of the Club. At this moment in life I wanted to be indentified with someone and definitely not as a 'girl' in any way. After partying with them a few times they wanted to be a member, wow all I had to do to get one of those cool denim jackets with a Club patch. That was what I wanted, build or buy my own chopper and cruise the roads, free from all the memories. My solution to the past was to run away from all aspects, family, relatives other friends and just go.

School was easy, I aced both classes, go figure. I graduated somewhere in the alphabetic middle of eight hundred classmates at SMU in Dallas. Thank goodness we got the 10am slot as opposed to the 12noon, 2pm or 4pm slots. Can you imagine four graduations of approximately the same size in one place on the same day. I just wanted out of that city any way I could. I turned eighteen and kept working at the Chevrolet dealership when my sister's boyfriend asked if I wanted to work with him fulltime at his dad's filling station and shop. He was a brother, so I accepted and by fall I had moved into a large house with three other club members, a total of six in a three bedroom house we would all 'share the bills'. One third of us actually 'shared the bills', the rest donated weed or whatever else became available on our combined wages. My brother's introduced me to 'speed' and I loved it shot into my vein, the quick rush and almost euphoric high kept me fascinated. One night my sister's boyfriend's brother's old lady, well she might have been eighteen, slipped me a note which was a big come on. I wasn't interested and went to my room and crashed, the next thing I know my brother her old man is holding a cocked 45 magnum in my face and telling me to get out. When I got up I looked around and she was in bed with me, was he serious? Me and her? In his hand was the note she wrote to me. I got up, packed and looked at my partially built Harley Sportster and walked out away from there into a decision that was made on the same need to identify with something bigger than myself and definitely female.

I had moved to Wichita, KS to my cousin's but was living with my club brother who left with me. I kept doing speed for the next few weeks exclusively and worked for a custom marble top manufacturer, doing setups and spraying gel-coat on the molds. Sometimes I hadn't slept in days or eaten either, but it was al about the evening. My life was going nowhere fast and Vietnam was up in the air, the draft was notifying me that I needed to register which I did. I stayed away from drugs for a few days before a United States Marine recruiter talked me into taking the aptitude test and I scored high in the Avionics field and I could join under the 'buddy program' with a friend and go through basic and advanced infantry training together. I just looked at my brother 'Wirehead' and said "I will if you will." he nodded to his brother "Deputy Dog" and we signed the papers. The next day we were on the bus for Kansas City, Mo for induction into the Marines. Arriving by plane and then bussed to Camp Pendleton in San Diego, CA where the first seventy two hours we were kept up, yelled at and mentally abused about everything from our sexual preference to our mother's obvious mistake in having me. Boot camp was both grueling physically and mentally and had me and my brother snapped together the Marine way in short order and became forward road guards for the platoon, meaning no one encroached our space at intersections by another platoon. Oh they loved to play, who can get there first and who could stop the closest to another platoon. Ahhh, Military life, ya gotta admire it's organization and disciplined life. I really did, only one hitch, I hated violence, go figure.

Those first two months of training, a total of four and you were Marine ready for your assignment, you were in the Corps. I loved the physical endurance of the obstacle courses, which being a smaller frame, my muscles made bulked in my arms, legs and abs. I was crazy fast and consistent in class and out of class. My week tour at guard duty came while I was serving KP duty for two weeks. For three nights I guarded the food that the base would consume, only challenged one Officer or any rank in that three nights between midnight and 4am. I had passed that part of training and we moved on to the second month with weapons and combat. My prowess with weapons was quickly recognized by the drill instructor and I go a little bit of encouragement on the rifle range enough to qualify 1 point away from and 'expert marksman' medal, so I got "sharpshooter' instead. It was the in your face 'combat', hand to hand' that absolutely convinced me that violence towards another human being would not be possible for me even if I was not on the frontlines. On the last day we were given orders to the northern side of Camp Pendleton for AIT (advanced infantry training, while we were waiting in barracks I and my brother slipped away and started hitch hiking for home. I had received a letter that my sister was now pregnant with her boyfriend's baby and he was beating her at times. I was going back and kick his ass.

Caught in Mairicopa County, NM with bald heads and no belongings, big red flag. The Highway Patrol soon rousted us back to the County jail for military hold. Short trip and now what? Back to the Corps under guard and to the Company Commander. No explanation was good enough and we were returned to the platoon, more KP while we prepared to leave on maneuvers, military slang for let's pretend to kick some ass for real. For one entire day, the first leg of our journey was up an incline of 30 - 35 degrees up. The heavy pack and steepness worsened with the rain turning our trail into mud. Under darkness we approached our objective and dug in for the next days maneuvers. None of us slept as we watched and heard the pre-dawn rumblings of tanks and artillery shells in the distant which lit up the sky. We were ordered forward and soon found the enemy on the other side of the hill, making there assault for that same objective. The battle raged for another night before the maneuver was declared finished. We never found out if we won the battle and if our captured and wounded and kill count was higher than our opponent, but we were all sure we kicked major ass. In the barracks I was pumped with the other guys, inside I was shaking.

I endured the remainder of training with no real sense of accomplishment and we received our orders for the next duty station. Mine was in Florida to Avionic Electronics School with a short stop over at home and my friends. We sat around and talked about the experiences and our Club Leader "Wolf Jack" was there to meet and greet us. Colors on I was introduced and we quickly became friends, brothers and especially Marines. He was just out three months earlier from Vietnam where he was A Ranger Sniper behind enemy lines in teams of two to kill and close down enemy supply lines. He glorified his experiences in stark detail to us all, he was obviously disturbed about some of the events that he had gone through. The taking of another human being's life literally drove me mad and I decided right then and there that I could not in any way support the war in Vietnam. I didn't report to my next duty station.

I purposely stayed at home, not because I was not a patriot, but we should never have been there and thousands lost their lives. My life was worth more to me alive than posturing myself as someone who felt in any way responsible. It was just not what I wanted my life to be involved in at all. So, guess what? I chose the same decision path as before, I walked away. For almost a year I continued to drink and do drugs.

My sister got away from the Club and pleaded with me to shed myself of them, come home and turn myself in to the military. I did so back in Dallas at the Naval Air Station at the risk with being charged with desertion during war time. I had to sit in front of my relatives, hoping I would turn my life around. I was, hopeful however misguided that thought was behind bars. I was transported to Camp LeJeune, NC where I was detained pending transport. It was encouraging my military guards were pleasant and allowed me the trip without any undue humiliation. The same was not true on my trip to my Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, FL where I was put in maximum security for two months. After what seemed an eternity my Captain arrived and took charge of me from the brig. My hope was blurry after speaking with my JAG lawyer, the prosecutor was going to make an example of my case. He had recommended two and a half years in federal prison and a bad-conduct discharge. That brightened my day, I talked with my 1st Seargent and he talked to the CO. They brought me in and flatly stated take an undesirable discharge and go home. I did and was on the bus that evening.


My stay was brief at my mom's, I said goodbye and headed to her sister's to start a new life. This was where I was when I turned the corner from my teens to the twenties. I landed a better than average job at a local manufacturing plant here in the city of Independence, KS. Today I live in that very city which has started to accept me for who I am today, but I'll get to that.

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