Transitions

I have spent most of my adult years as a lesbian, giving up my family in support of my unwavering choice, and I have survived against all odds, avoiding a predestined life of wifely duties, motherhood and children. Despite admiring my mom for her old-fashioned views on gender roles in marriage as well as life, I wanted a different life for myself. I was tired of doing what was expected of me, curious of the world outside the ultra-conservative suburb of Addison, but little did I know where my choices would lead me.

It was 1996 when I met Adina at a lesbian hot spot called Ms. Katz. She was dressed up from head to toe, clad in black leather, a vest, motorcycle boots, a white tee shirt and chaps that were shining in the dimly lit bar like the sun glistening off the water. She was handsome, could almost pass as a guy, with a dark chocolate complexion, and all I could see were her white teeth and a smile that could light up an otherwise moonless night. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and for some reason I was unable to speak when a mutual friend introduced us. I think my hello came out like, “Hi, ah, um, my name is Lisa.” Adina’s smile quickly eased my embarrassment, and in her quiet unassuming voice, she said, “Nice to meet you.” Her reply was not at all what I expected from the 5-foot-7-inch tough-looking leather woman.

Meeting Adina was a major turning point in my life, as I began my adventure into the alternative leather lifestyle. I remember overhearing people call her sir, and at first I didn’t understand the title; even though Adina looked butch, she was biologically female. But as my experience grew, I learned it was not unusual for people to use nicknames such as Daddy, Sir, Boy, Girl, Mistress, Master, etc. Much of the lifestyle is about power dynamics, role-playing, escapism, fetishes, pain, pleasure and anything else society finds offensive. I found it exhilarating. It was 1997 when I decided to go to the upcoming Midwest leather convention with the intent of running into Adina. As I was taking the escalator down in the hotel, I saw her at the entrance of the vendor market. She smiled and gave me a quick wink acknowledging me. I whispered in her ear that I was really glad to see her and that I would love to get to know her better.

What I knew of the leather lifestyle I had read in books but it didn’t take long to acclimate myself.  I enjoyed the kinky nature of this world, its protocols, rich history and the fact that I could be whatever I chose to be. I had cut my hair really short when I moved from my parents as I become tired of looking like a Barbie doll. I began wearing combat boots, army fatigues and tight-fitting tee shirts. It was nice to make my own choices, especially when it came to how I looked, and not feeling pressured to be what my parents expected me to be.

After meeting Adina at the leather event, we began dating off and on. At times it was frustrating as I never knew when I would see her, but when we did get together it was pure magic. I hung in there, and by the spring of 1998 she gave me what I wanted: a companion, a partner and, finally, a commitment. I felt secure and had stability in my life, something I seriously needed as I was still dealing with family strains and abandonment issues, hurting deeply within after I “came out.”

The collar in the leather community is like an engagement ring, and I was honored to wear it as a symbol of our commitment. Adina accepted all of me, but she did encourage me to be less tomboyish in appearance, so I started to grow out my hair again and tempered my more masculine attire. My friends, on the other hand, noticed the changes in me, concerned that I adapted far too deeply for Adina and in a way I did, because I wanted to make her happy.

It was May 1998 when Adina spoke to me about a guy she knew who had transitioned from female to male. I had heard the term transgender before but was curious as to the point of her discussion. Eventually she revealed her own plans to begin the process of hormone replacement. After the initial shock, I became angry that she kept this from me. We were steeped in a collared, committed leather relationship that I just started to feel safe in and now things were changing indefinitely.  In the same breath I was relieved because certain things I was seeing made sense, one of which was her asking me to call her Sir. Adina wanted to be sure that she could pass as man whenever we would be out and addressing her as Sir, was important. My own thoughts on this were a surprise to me, but I had become accustomed to her masculine persona and was looking forward to seeing the physical change that I knew was necessary for Adina to feel complete as a man, thus making it easier on me to refer to her as he.

By the fall of 1999, I began to refer to Adina as Anthony, with his upcoming surgery scheduled in December. We decided on a more permanent arrangement and I was ready to live with someone again. But I had absolutely no clue about what was involved in going from a lesbian existence to a heterosexual one for my psyche. We had a cute three-bedroom home in the city, and by late December he had flown to San Francisco for his reconstructive breast surgery. I spent the next two weeks organizing our place and putting up the Christmas tree, thinking about our future. The two weeks he was gone were agonizing as I didn’t know what to expect once his change was complete or how I would feel about him or if I’d still be attracted to him. But more than that, I was being haunted by my own fears invading my unconscious mind like a hostile takeover. What would I tell my friends or how would I explain “him” to my family?

After Anthony’s surgery life felt normal, if you can call a lesbian involved with a man who was once a woman “normal.” I grocery-shopped, cooked, cleaned, did his laundry and worked since we could not afford the household expenses if I quit, although that was my hope when I agreed to the arrangement. In exchange for keeping the house, taking care of him and having food on the table at a decent time, I could concentrate on a full-time college education, would only need a part-time job if I chose to but that didn’t happen. Taking care of him made it difficult to concentrate on my degree especially with maintaining a part-time job. We started keeping to ourselves instead of being sociable because of the negative experiences we were forced to deal with after his transition from female to male. He had already lost his family’s support, but it hurt him more deeply being disrespected by folks he thought were his friends and from a community that prides themselves on embracing individuality and acceptance.

With all the controversy we became introverted, and I became uncomfortable around my lesbian friends, especially those who didn’t know.  Anthony was very private about sharing his truth, but I needed a social life to stay connected to the lesbian community and to stop me from going insane. I desperately needed the company of women because in my heart I was still a lesbian. By spring of 1999, we had been fighting constantly and I couldn’t stop thinking about my father, who had just passed away, asking me if I was still happy during his last days in the hospital. It was hard to mourn his loss as so many years had passed before reconnecting with him and the rest of my biological family. I was numb. Losing my father made me hold onto Anthony even tighter, despite our issues.             

With so much confusion in my life I had a mental breakdown, a sudden split identity, absolutely abandoning any remnants of my tomboyish nature, wearing dresses more often than pants and open-toed sandals instead of gym shoes. Anthony needed a woman in his life who complemented his budding masculinity, and it was easy to get caught up in what society viewed as gender conformity. I became immersed in it like a drunken sailor getting his first tattoo. There was a kind of dizzying simplicity to it that I found comforting.  After my dad’s funeral, my personal interests were soon replaced by home responsibility and Anthony’s demanding needs. And with all the issues we had, my happy place became a nightmare with unsettling dreams, seeing my life like a camera’s flash, a vivid image of me becoming my mom. I felt trapped, smothered, yet afraid to let him go and move on. I wasn’t financially or emotionally prepared for any abrupt changes and desperately needed answers without losing Anthony or myself in the process.

The first step I took was to be more independent, keeping busy, hoping that Anthony would take some responsibility instead of relying on me. I was biding my time and little by little I found myself again. I wanted him to stop taking me for granted and go out once in a while. When my initial steps failed to generate any changes in his behavior, I had a built-in excuse for not being in an amorous mood as much as before, with me working, taking care of the house and him, and going to school. We were no longer sleeping together in the master bedroom and we came to the realization that we were better roommates than lovers. I had to make a difficult decision: As long as he was paying the brunt of the bills and I was still living there, I would remain loyal but no longer committed to him. I gave back the collar.                      

We were blessed to have a good situation for a while and Anthony really cared about me, this I knew; he just needed a wife like my mom. Me, I wanted to cut my hair, burn my dresses, wear baggy pants and comfortable shoes again. Even now, when I look back on that day, watching the movers load up the U-Haul with my things and Anthony sitting on the front stoop, it occurred to me our break-up had more to do with my own transitions and less about his.

Update on Saturday, February 15, 2020 at 08:35AM by Lisa Lacriola aka T.Langdon Squire

First Published in Mosaic Anthology Issue XIV, 2019

2019's recipient of the Diane Kennedy honor