My Life in the House of Transsexuals
You haven’t lived until you’ve been woken from an exhausted stupor by the screech of a hungry, half naked she-male as she dashes through the kitchen in search of left-over pizza. Alas for Carmen Cruz, there was no more pizza. It had all been eaten the night before when she, her entourage of foxy tranny pals, trans-man Buck Angel, his wife, and I had carefully explained which women in the house had dicks, which women in the house had pussies, which man in the house had a dick, and which man in the house had a pussy. Our attentive audience had been a collection of ostensibly straight boys who had met the aforementioned tranny entourage during the Adult Entertainment Expo and had come to the house looking for a good time.
Modern dating can be so complex.
After spending a week couch surfing my way across Las Vegas while attending Internext, the AEE, and the AVN Awards, there’s no way I can believe that the human race is easily divided into two neat, clean, tidy genetically distinct sexual categories. I have seen too many women who look too different from one another and too many men who appear likewise. When egg and sperm collide, the genetic dice are rolled and, in true Las Vegas style, any number of combinations can come up.
I stayed for three nights at the house that Robert Hill Releasing rented for its two trans performers, and I heard, saw, and discussed many things that caused me to further examine popular concepts about gender, sex, genetics, and socialization. As a female since birth, I often wondered what it must be like for Buck and Carmen as they move further away from the bodies they were born with and move ever further into the sexual landscapes that they feel should have been theirs to roam since birth. Buck sometimes spoke about the increased aggression he felt as he introduced testosterone into his body. Other than the continued presence of a pussy – which he thoroughly enjoys – there’s nothing to indicate that he was ever anything other than what he presents himself as: a man. Although Carmen and her sex-crazed friends are certainly taller than the majority of women I know, they exude a confident femininity that those same women would likely envy. In my opinion, they’re each as male or female as they believe themselves to be. Yet neither is identical to a natal male or female, for their experiences becoming a man and a woman have been radically different from those of us who were born that way.
Buck, Carmen, and others who challenge our notions of what makes us men and women are not merely members of a Third Sex. They are reminders to us all that the human condition is infinite in its variability and that nothing worth a damn is ever simple.
— Originally published in Playtime Magazine —