Authors: Cindi Jones
I had joined
another startup trying to sell some radically new software used to design logic chips.
The industry was still fairly new. The acronym EDS (Electronic Design Software) had not even been designated for the industry.
My company was exploring its niche, its place where it would fit among the competition.
I
was still exploring and trying to find how
I
would fit into the world.
I had met Cory through a strange sequence of connections, starting with an online contact, moving to a sort of sorority club for cross dressers in the Boston area, ending up with a phone call.
Cory found me and was interested in doing a few things “en femme” as she called it.
Cory spent a great deal of time in public “en femme”.
I never knew Cory’s masculine identity. She never talked about “him.”
We spent our first few visits
in quiet restaurants chatting and discussing our “bender” identities.
Back then, we could not identify ourselves as “transsexuals” or “transvestites”. Instead, we called ourselves “gender benders” or “benders” for short.
I still find many of the terms confusing and misleading. “Transgendered” has come into vogue during the past decade or so and I consider that a great improvement. It’s still so hard to have to carry a label. I can’t visualize myself in that convenient box.
Cory was a
self-diagnosed
cross dresser. She enjoyed bending traditional rules. She was active in a local club, attended their outings, and loved to have her picture taken.
“It’s a trip Cindi.
I love doing this, it’s a lot of fun.”
“But you are so good at it Cory. I’ve seen your picture in a bikini. How did you do that?” I asked.
“Cindi, you can do a lot with pictures. Believe me, most of them were discarded. I had someone shoot at least a hundred shots of me that day on the beach. And that was the only one that worked out. All the others made me look like a guy in a bikini.” We continued to wile away the time in a secluded coffee house.
I
returned frequently
to Boston often and every time, I would look up Cory.
Cory described all sorts of people that she had met and activities that she had attended with the sorority. More than once she mentioned a place called the meat market in her stories.
“What is the meat market?” I finally asked her.
“Believe me Cindi; you don’t want to go there.” “But what is it
?
” I demanded.
Cory slowly explained that the meat market was
a dance club
located downtown near the red light district.
The red light district carried its own catchy name called the “Combat Zone”. “Cindi, I really don’t think that you should go there. You have never seen anything like it and I’m not sure you’d handle it well.”
I had slipped up at home.
Charlene discovered s
ome little piece of my secret and I was trying to work through it with
her
. It was not going well and I knew that our existence together was in the slow stages of falling apart. I was depressed. And yet
,
Squirrel
demanded to explore this new place.
“I want to go Cory,” I found myself saying.
“Are you sure?
It will blow your mind Cindi.
I don’t mean that in a good way.
” I insisted and Cory said
,
“Let’s go then.”
We stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entrance of the “meat market”.
The sign above the club was labeled “The Haystack
.”
“Cory, I thought this place was literally called the “meat market!”
“Cindi, you are the most gullible bender I have ever met.
You really don’t know anything about the world, do you? Well you’ll get an eyeful tonight,” Cory explained.
We were sized up by a couple of hefty bouncers as we passed through the entrance.
One of them approved us and let us pass.
“What was that all about?” I asked Cory as I strained to hear my own voice above the
mind
shattering
music emanating from the hall.
“You don’t get in if they don’t like you,” Cory answered.
I let the thought drop before
Squirrel
started the wheel spinning. I looked over the tables and chairs to the dance floor. This was a gay
bar as Cory had told me. Cross-
dressers were accepted here.
Men were dancing with men.
There were women… no, drag queens.
Cory was right.
I was blown away.
I had never imagined anything like this. My sheltered view of the world was shattered that night.
I knew that I would need to be careful here. I did not know however, just how much of this I could take in at once.
I must admit that it was shocking to me. Here I was dressed as a woman and shocked at men dancing with each other. How curious we are as a species to be a member of one group and think down of another. It was a lesson that was soon absorbed, analyzed, and I chastised myself severely for the thoughts I had. Yes, I was breaking the bonds of the cult member I had been, little by little.
A brutally handsome young man, my age approached our table.
His eyes met mine. “Cindi, you’ll be okay. I’ll watch out for you,” Cory advised.
“Ya wanna dance?” this handsome fellow asked?
Now, I had suffered a lot of confusion in my lifetime. I had lived for years trying to sort through issues and answer difficult questions. In one flash, I had to answer an unexpected question without giving
Squirrel
time to assess the situation for risk. Cory kicked my foot lightly.
“Go on. You wanted to come here,” she said.
I stood up and he took my hand.
He escorted me to the dance floor and we danced to the music.
The music was so loud that the punch of the bass line would push and pull me sideways, back and forth,
across the dance floor.
Boom boom boom.
I loved the beat.
I was dancing. I had always loved to dance. And here I was dancing as a woman.
“The image of a woman”
Squirrel
cautioned.
The realization popped with the bass beat.
Squirrel “I’m a girl now and I’m dancing.”
“Yeah
, sure you are”
Squirrel
commented sarcastically out of breath.
“Yes I am.”
I always liked to dance.
I loved dancing.
I had lived my life for a moment like this.
My depressive mood quickly changed to the positive. My empty battery charged with excitement and anticipation.
The music stopped and I returned to my seat. Cory smiled as I approached her.
Another handsome man approached us and sat down in an empty chair he scooped from another table.
“Good evening. May I buy you two a drink?”
“Yes, thank you very much” said Cory.
“
We’d both like a screwdriver.”
The connotations of that very name bring a smile to me as I write this. We
were
in a gay bar. Neither one of us
was
admittedly gay. And order
ed
a screwdriver.
Cory knew that I did not drink. Why had she ordered me a screwdriver? My li
fe was going to hell.
“Who care
s?”
Squirrel
piped up.
Although it was very cool outside, the heat of a hundred bodies accumulated. I had been dancing and I was very thirsty.
I eagerly drank the orange juice with out tasting the drink. Cory glanced a warning that I did not heed. The drink went down and another shortly arrived. I drank screwdrivers and danced, danced and had screwdrivers. I loved the passion of the music, my body moving in rhythm. My mind numbed as the alcohol from the first drink started to
wend its way through my system… and
there were three or more just starting, waiting in cue.
I had never had an alcoholic beverage before this night. They affected me in the worst way.
We had only been there an hour and I was totally intoxicated. The music slowed somewhat to a clutch dance.
It did feel nice being held by someone while I presented the illusion of Cindi. “You know what he wants Cindi, you need to get out of here,”
Squirrel
warned through a thick haze.
I paid no mind to
Squirrel
as I turned to putty. The slow song ended and an upbeat song started. The boom of the bass pushed me across the floor as I dizzily accepted what this environment proffered. My dance partner did not release his grasp as he started a sexual dry hump.
“Cindi, we need to get out of here”
Squirrel
pleaded unsuccessfully as I stared at the mirrored dance ball spin, dancing reflected light around the hall.
It was all I could do to stand as my partner continued to grind. Floating, gliding, swimming, sliding…. My mind was in never never land.
“Please, someone help me,” cried a voice from some lost corner in my mind.
“Excuse me.” Cory yelled as she dragged me from the floor. “I’m not leaving you out there for another minute,” she flatly stated, somewhat yelling to rise above the din.
“I’m taking you back to your hotel room.” I realized that she was helping me. I was grateful.
The taxi pulled us to the front of the hotel; Cory paid the driver and then extracted me from the back seat.
The stupor of drunkenness drove
Squirrel
out.
He picked up a position well behind us as he followed us into the hotel.
Cory rummaged through my purse to find my hotel key.
She read the room number and escorted me into the elevator and then down the hall to my room.
Squirrel watched from behind as Cory propped me up while opening the door.
Cory dragged me into the room and sat me on my bed. Squirrel scurried in behind. “I’m going to leave your key right here by the television.
Do you need help getting undressed?”
“Ah… Cory…. I’ll be okay.
Thank you so much.”
My mind managed to find the words and slowly spin the wheel that made my mouth say the words. Cory left and closed the door.
I fell over on my side with my feet dangling at the end of the bed.
I was asleep before my head hit the bed.
“
Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring
“
I lifted myself from the bed still dressed from the night before.
“Good morning, this is your wake up call.”
“Thank you” I managed to say as my voice cracked.
“Have a great day” the voice finished as I hung up the phone.
I was tired and I needed a shower. After my morning
shower,
I felt fine. I thought about the events the previous night. I did have a good time. I decided that I should never again get drunk. I also knew that I was definitely NOT gay. Cory had shown me something about myself. I had tested my bounds and some defining lines were drawn. It would be the last time I saw Cory. I wouldn’t
be able to
return to Boston for a very long time
and we lost track of each other
. She had indeed been a good friend
to
me.
She had seen my naiveté and understood something about my innocence. She knew the shock that I would feel. She helped me see new things and saved me from an embarrassing situation.
But most of all, she was a companion to talk to in a quiet coffee shop.
I continued travel
about the country, meeting new faces, learning little bits
here and there
, trying to fit a 10,000 piece puzzle together. It had no box cover picture for reference. All the pieces looked the same. I did have some fun.
I got to go dancing. I had many quiet dinner conversations.
They were indeed good times. The memories managed to get me through David’s disintegrating life
at home
. But they were fleeting.
The little bits and pieces were not enough to sustain me or provide an opportunity to truly socialize in
“my”
role.
David was confident, smart, and could put a square peg in a round hole if he had to. He could give a public presentation on a moment’s notice. He could pull teams together. Cindi was young and uninitiated. She had no social reference to continue her development.
But David was being erased from the scene.
I had come to know that my quest for the ultimate change, gender reassignment surgery (GRS), would require me to live life as a woman for this very reason.
The life test would immerse me in a full time role.
I also knew from the stories that I heard, there were many who did not make it. They would surrender. They would be
literally be
discarded as trash on the highway.
Many would not survive, accepting suicide as the only way out.
And most, after succeeding to obtain the ultimate prize, would live a lonely life spurned by our society
.
The prospects were dismal.
Yet i
t
was my dream
.