Female Friends are hard to find for every mature woman. Female friendships are complicated in ways that men’s are not. Although I feel that men actually have more difficulty forming friendships later in life than women do, trying to befriend another adult woman is a unique maze that requires more intuition and subtle communication than is expected of a man. If you are a stealth trans woman as I am, it can be even more challenging.
Some of my first post-transition encounters with other women as friends were positive, but these were largely buffered by my ex-fiancee who rode shotgun for me during the first 3 years of my transition. She’s had a lifetime of female friendships and knew which comments were well-intentioned and which had a knife’s sharp edge to them. She was my guardian and defender, but unfortunately also later my abuser. Her own protectiveness and concern were replaced with hostility and derision. Alcohol had wedged its dark influence between us and became her new lover. Anyone and anything that attempted to tear them apart became the enemy, and so I left.
At 55 I was once again single, but now as a fully transitioned if somewhat naive stealth trans woman. I moved out of my former home and town where my ex lived to another one 40 miles away. I didn’t want to go through the pain of seeing my ex in town as we struggled to move on. Nor did I want to watch her slowly implode from her addiction any longer. I had done all I could and she seemed committed to her downward spiral. And so I became the new girl in an even smaller town 40 miles away. I immediately made one girlfriend. She also happened to be my new landlord. Nancy was a single woman originally from New York. She was also an artist like myself and had lived an unorthodox life. For whatever reason, I came out to her right upfront. “I’m Transgender,” I said, “do you have any problem with that?” “Not at all!” she replied with a big smile. She came over and gave me a nice firm hug. “You’re safe here,” she added, “and you’re beautiful!” she laughed. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she continued, “but you will get some attention in this town looking like that!” she said sweeping her arms in a gesture from my head to toe. “This oughta be interesting!” She added. She was loud, obnoxious, abrasive, and honest. I immediately loved her and we became fast friends.
I had one other male friend in town. Mark was the person who found me the room at Nancy’s place. Mark was an artist too. An abstract expressionist painter, a bit older than me, Mark was extremely gregarious and loved women. He and I met in a Gay bar years before. This was before my transition and it was his first time there. Apparently, he’d always had questions about his own sexuality. I remember the moment I met him. His eyes locked on me like a vice. At the time I had no idea it was his first time at a Gay bar. I assumed when he confidently approached me that he was into Trans women. I learned later that wasn’t the case at all. There was just something in my eyes he later said. He gave me an unbelievable kiss that night and we have remained friends ever since. He became my escort and guide in this new small town.
Mark loved music and he invited me regularly to local bars and wineries to hear bands he liked. Unfortunately, Mark had also dated virtually every single woman in town. I was oblivious to his history until I began encountering some of his exes. Two of them still held feelings for Mark and my sudden appearance was not something they welcomed. This is where I learned about the subtle death by a thousand paper-cuts women can inflict upon each other at social gatherings. “So, I hear you’re from LA?” one snapped when Mark introduced us. “No, I’m from a town just a few miles away.” I responded, knowing that being “from Los Angeles.” meant you were from the hated megalopolis to the South whose tourists regularly overran this small town and whose transplants distorted the local real estate market. “Then why did someone tell me that?” she came back. “I have no idea,” I said looking at Mark who now began shifting uncomfortably. He was realizing he had dropped us right into the center of a viper pit. “Well you don’t dress like you’re from LA,” she said looking me up and down. I was wearing a pair of flared denim jeans and a tank top. I had on simple jewelry and my hair was down and straight. She on the other hand, was dripping in gems and wore a flowing drapey print dress, her hair pulled up with a jewel-encrusted comb. She had manicured, shoulder-length blonde hair and lots of make-up. She sat with a group of other women in almost identical costume, all of whom were now giving me a look of disdain. “I’m not in Kansas anymore.” crossed my mind. Mark made some excuse and escorted me away from the table. “Sorry about that!” he consoled. “I had no idea that was going to happen.” “I did date Shelley, but we’ve been broken up for six weeks now.” “Clueless man.” I thought feeling ambushed. Apparently, the battle lines were now drawn. My next few months were to be a steep learning curve about a drama that I wanted no part of nor asked for. I was a threat simply because of the fact that I existed and now lived in town.
The next women who befriended me were a Lesbian couple. One of whom was sitting next to me at the same bar (the only bar) in town. Her name is Lynn. We began talking and soon I felt very comfortable sharing that my last relationship had been with a woman. Lynn’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Then you're a Lesbian?” “I’m probably more bisexual,” I responded. “Then you need to come to our barbecue this Sunday!” she said smiling. I had no plans so that Sunday I found myself sitting in Lynn’s backyard with a dozen other Lesbian women. I learned long ago that people are just people. Gay or straight, black, white or brown. We all have roughly the same concerns and conversation. All travel along similar male-female lines. The group was very friendly and welcoming and we all chatted easily. I felt excited about finding a group I could socialize with so quickly. One woman was especially friendly. I’ll call her Cass. Cass seemed like the most gracious hostess, although the home we were gathering in was not hers. It took me a minute to realize I was the only one getting so much of her attention. “Did you get enough to eat?” “Can I get you anything else?” “How long have you been in town?” “You sure you don’t want anything else?” She was basically waiting on me. I began to understand that she was actually hitting on me. I enjoyed her attention but was more interested in making friends rather than starting a new relationship. I kept things light and made the rounds in the gathering.
That night, however, I had a pang of conscience. I felt like I wasn’t being honest with Lynn. I had a past that wasn’t technically as a Lesbian or as a cisgender woman for that matter, and I felt like I needed to speak with Lynn about it before I went too long as part of her group. I gave her a call. “Wow, that’s a surprise!” She laughed when I told her. “It’s fine with me,” she said. “But maybe you don’t need to share that with everyone.” “Hmmm.” I thought. I said, “Okay,” but I felt like it wasn’t “OK.” I decided to let it go but began to decline the barbecue invitations. Lynn continued to be very friendly when we saw each other around town and kept me in the email chain of invitations, but her lack of complete acceptance had turned my interest in the group lukewarm at best. I went to a few outings with them, but felt a bit out of place, like an imposter. In addition to feeling conflicted about being accepted, I also felt conflicted about being a Lesbian. I began to realize that I preferred men.
Mark and I continued to hang out regularly. He was like a hummingbird that flits from flower to flower seeking nectar from as many as possible. I realized that he had a number of women like myself that he dated on a regular basis. If I had entertained any delusion about being his partner it was slowly replaced with an awareness that he was incapable of being that deep. That was fine. I enjoyed his company and having someone escort me around made me very happy and eased the move to this new town. We were out at a local restaurant one night when Cass showed up. Her eyes once again lit up when she saw me. She already knew Mark and she gave him a hug as a greeting. But when she came to greet me she added a nip behind my ear along with the hug. I was dumbfounded! She handed me a note with her phone number on it and left the table. I was perplexed and felt conflicted once again. I told Mark about it and he said “Give her a call.” “She’s cool, and you can at least be friends.”
So the next day I called her. She invited me over to her place and when I arrived it was the ingratiating hostess all over again. She couldn’t seem to do enough for me. Once more I felt like a princess being waited on. After she showed me around her property and I had met her dogs, we sat down on her couch with a glass of wine. I realized I was becoming anxious. This was that moment that the guy makes a pass at you and I could sense Cass was preparing to do the same. “Hey Cass,” I said interrupting the mood, “I need to talk with you about something.” “Yes.” She said still looking at me with half-lidded adoring eyes. “I don’t want anything to start here without being clear on who I am.” I went on. “Who you are?” she asked. “Yes, I’m a Trans woman,” I said simply. Her eyes seemed to suddenly grow hard. “Really?” “That’s cool.” She said getting up. She stood a few feet away looking at me now as if with a new awareness. “Oh yeah, I knew that,” she said looking away and walking into the kitchen next door. “When she came back in she sat down on a chair on the other side of the coffee table. The cozy romantic vibe now feeling more like an interview. “So are you all complete downstairs?” she asked looking at my crotch. “I don’t answer those questions,” I responded, now feeling like this was turning more into an interrogation. “Well, I’ve never touched a cock.” she said flatly. “And I’m not about to begin.” “That’s fine,” I said setting my glass of wine down. “Let’s hang out again,” she said as I walked out her front door. “Sure,” I responded with an artificial smile knowing that would never happen.
Incidents like this have caused me to be more careful about revealing my gender status with other women. I’m more careful about sharing with someone until I know them quite a bit better. It seems important for them to think of me as a cisgender woman first and then, if necessary I share the whole story. I’m still having difficulty making many good girlfriends. Men are easy for me, but often they’re not really interested in friendship. They always seem to want more. I keep trying. Sometimes I think my intention is at odds with my action. I think I fear letting anyone in too closely because in the past every close relationship I’ve had has turned romantic. I often wonder if I’m capable of having a close friend that I haven’t slept with.
I have a new housemate and she seems super cool. We’re about the same age with some similarities in life experience. We get along well, and I don’t feel any weird vibe from her. She doesn’t seem interested in me romantically nor competitive with me either. I hope she will be another good female friend. I’m going to keep the transgender card to myself for now. It really seems to mean so little about who I am anymore. My life and my feelings are just like any other woman these days. I’m beginning to feel that the necessity of sharing that small detail is less important than growing a new friendship. Like planting a tree. You have to nurture it and guard it carefully at first. Later when it has taken root and begins to grow healthy and strong a powerful wind from another direction will have little effect. My friendship isn’t really a threatening wind anyway but more of a gentle warm breeze. Hopefully, this new tree will recognize the difference.
