TransActive: How To Tell Him (or Her)

TransActive: How To Tell Him (or Her)

by Christine Beatty

Okay, to be perfectly honest I’m all written out. I just sent off my latest novel, Homegirl, to my literary manager and so I don’t feel like writing a damn thing for a few more weeks. However, I don’t want to leave all of you high and dry, so I’m offering this for your perusing pleasure. I’ve had this idea around for awhile that just needed fleshing out, which I’ve now done. I hope you enjoy it.

How to Disclose… and Not

Say you have been on more than a few dates with a guy. He has no idea of your past, biologically speaking. In other words her believes you came into this world already fully equipped with a vagina, one not surgically constructed. Now, let’s say that you’re not the kind of girl to strut around in a “Kiss Me – I’m Transsexual” T-shirt and proclaim your transition to everyone from distant relatives to the clerk at your local supermarket. Let’s further postulate that, on the other hand, you are the kind of girl who believes in keeping nothing important and relevant from the guy (or gal) you love. And let’s further surmise that you live in one of those states like California, where failure to tell a husband of a past sex reassignment surgery is grounds for a marriage annulment.

Whew! How are we doing so far? Okay, now let’s say that your relationship with Mr. Right or Ms. Right has blossomed to the point where you decide s/he’s a keeper and now it’s time to disclose your plumbing repair. And you’re doing this because — remember — you’re the kind of girl who believes in keeping nothing important and relevant from the guy you love. And besides you don’t want your marriage annulled (assuming the love of your life is a man and/or same sex marriage becomes legal in your state). This also presumes you actually want to get married instead of, to use Dr. Laura Holierthanthou Schlesshinger’s pious, I-think-we’re-feeling-a-little-bit-superior phrase, “shacking up.”

How do you do it? By this I mean, disclosure.

Given I’m so exhausted with standard writing after my latest novel and being very ready to go back into screenwriting mode, I have decided to craft a few possible scenarios as cinematic scenes.  So here we go…

INT. CAMARO – NIGHT

CHRISTINE and her BOYFRIEND are parked on lover’s lane beneath a perfect full moon. Thousands of crickets serenade them from all directions as “The Crying Game” plays softly on the Camaro’s stereo. The two of them sit in the back seat. Christine looks adoringly into his eyes.

BOYFRIEND
(zipping up fly)
Oh, God, Christine! That was incredible! Where
did you ever learn to give head like that?!

CHRISTINE
(wiping mouth)
Honey, with you it just comes natural.
(eyes downcast)
Look, this is probably not a good time, but
there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. . .

Er, no. Bad idea. After sex people’s bodies are suffused with all kinds of powerful, psychoactive neurotransmitters, endorphins and adrenaline, especially after an orgasm. Such biochemical mayhem could tend to somewhat restrict a person’s ability to exercise self-control in his or her actions, especially if there are no witnesses. Thus a transgender  revelation could result in all manner of consequences, from a mere sock in the jaw (like Fergus does to Dil in The Crying Game) to much worse. Perhaps your guy is a freelance arborist with periodic schizophrenia and has a huge collection of razorsharp, fully fueled chainsaws in the trunk of his car — run for your life, girl!

Or maybe not. The point is that any kind of potentially unpleasant disclosure right after sex — be it of your past sex change operation or losing $50K of his money in the stock market — is a very bad idea. So let’s try that again.

A better approach would be to do it in public with plenty of witnesses (less chance of that chainsaw thing or any other kind of ugly scene). A restaurant will do nicely. The more elegant the restaurant, the more he will have to exercise self-control, so fergawdsake don’t do it at McDonald’s. In addition, making the meal your treat would be an even better idea. Also, wait until after you eat and he’s placated with food. As a matter of fact, do it right after you pay the check, while the waiter is taking your credit card to the cashier. If it gets tense, he’ll be forced to take a break when the waiter comes back with the receipt to sign.

If your guy is losing his cool by this point, take your time signing. Perhaps review the bill again. Use the pocket calculator function on your cellphone to verify the total. If your phone lacks this vital tool, request the waiter bring you a pocket calculator. Better yet, have him summon the manager, perhaps the maître d for good measure. Or, if you want to take a different route, request the waiter bring the chef out to your table so you can praise him in person. Do whatever it takes until you see your guy calming down or, at least, that his knuckles are no longer white.

Here’s one possible approach…

INT. ELEGANT RESTAURANT – NIGHT
CHRISTINE and her BOYFRIEND have just finished a sumptuous, candlelit supper. Christine watches as the waiter takes her credit card away with the check. She takes a deep breath and briefly closes her eyes in prayer. She takes his hand in hers.

CHRISTINE
John, I’ve had a wonderful night so far.

JOHN
Me too, Christine.

CHRISTINE
I’ve really enjoyed the time I’ve spent
with you over the past weeks, and I hope
you feel the same.

JOHN
You bet I do, babe.

CHRISTINE
(smiles)
I’m glad. I feel I’d like to get to know
you better.  See what develops. . .but you
should know something about me before
we carry this any further.

JOHN
I think I know what you’re trying to say.
Don’t you worry about it. I know, and it
doesn’t bother me. It might concern my
parents, but I can’t live my life for them.

CHRISTINE
(surprised, hopeful)
You know?

JOHN
Yes, and I don’t mind that you’re not Jewish.

Christine briefly covers her eyes, sighs.

CHRISTINE
That’s not what I meant, John. This is a lot
bigger than that. John, I have a past that’s
probably unlike any other woman you’ve ever known.

JOHN
Look, I know you go to those 12-step meetings.
I imagine you probably did some way out-there
things. But that’s all behind you now.

CHRISTINE
Good, I’m glad you look at it that way. But it’s not
the things I did as an addict that I’m talking about,
though it is my past.  It’s who I was before
I became Christine.

JOHN
What do you mean? Are you in some kind of
witness protection program or something?

CHRISTINE
No.

JOHN
You’re a parolee, right? Spent a decade
in prison? Oh my God. Please don’t say you
were a serial killer.

CHRISTINE
Well, I felt like I was in a prison.

JOHN
Oh, Christ! A mental institution! Do you
have to take, like, anti-psychotic drugs
or something?

CHRISTINE
No!

JOHN
Please don’t tell me you’re a fucking Teabagger.

CHRISTINE
(wearily)
No.

JOHN
Branch Davidian? Neo Nazi skinhead?
Lawyer?

CHRISTINE
(shakes her head)
This is not working out how I’d planned.

JOHN
Sorry. Look, I can tell it’s probably
something kind of heavy. I should just
let you tell me.

CHRISTINE
Oh, thank God!

JOHN
You’re a born-again!

CHRISTINE
John!

JOHN
Sorry!

CHRISTINE
What I mean is. . . well, the woman who
sits here began her life as a boy and has
since had hormones and surgery to correct that.
(pauses to wipe away a tear)
I am a woman who is no longer trapped
in the wrong body.

JOHN
Oh, that! Babe, I knew all along.

CHRISTINE
(shocked)
You did?

JOHN
Sure! Don’t you recognize me? I was
the Maid of Honor at your sister’s
wedding last year.

CHRISTINE
(shocked)
Joanna?!

JOHN
(grinning)
Not anymore.

Christine shakes her head, dazed but relieved at this turn of events.

CHRISTINE
I guess this means I can start wearing
my “Kiss Me – I’m Transsexual”
T-shirt again.

Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Category: Transgender Fun & Entertainment, Transgender Opinion