I've Lived So Long I'm So Bent I'm Straight
A short time later, in the process of relaxing in my morning body movements, I had an epiphany: I'm just the same as every other woman my age. I am not significantly different, in terms of sexual attributes, to any childless post-menopausal slight-breasted woman. Just by living long enough, I have acquired gender normality. I've lived long enough to be just like any other crone. So I'm not fertile; many women my age aren't. So I was once a man, but that was so long ago, I've been a woman longer than many of you have been a man or woman. I stopped being a man in 1985, twenty years ago.
Now I meet with many young people who also had a different form twenty years ago, but one doesn't judge people by what shape they wore in their last life. If the human world could be cut in two, I have to concede I belong in the female side. I've been reluctant to place myself there, because gay men look like they are having so much fun, and I once belonged there, and I still feel empathy for queens, and I know that it's not a huge step from a femme queen to a versatile queen to a swinging bi guy to a straight man, and I really like that I know that all human beings are the same kind of being, with any gender differences being fluid and on moving spectrum, which changes aspect according to the viewer's angle and perspective... sort of like a rainbow... But while I have knowledge of this rainbow, I am not separate from it, and while I may have had some unusual experiences, so have many others, and uniqueness does not separate one from humanity. In some senses, I am a normal heterosexual mildly nymphomaniacal woman. In some senses, I am a gender-transgressive queen. And a quean (the Scottish word for an untidy woman, which I celebrate with domestic ferality). But, my historical peccadilloes notwithstanding, I have simply lived long enough that I am now a straight woman. With the same right to have the same opportunities.
And I’ve lived so long that there now an extra twenty five years worth of attractive young men since I started fellating them at nineteen. And more; even straight men are looking after themselves now. That may be an age thing too; the gay scene invents the sexy trends, the youth culture picks it up, and nowadays young folk generally look like the cutting-edge gay kids of my youth.
I just have to let go of all my history with straight men who were yukky or homophobic or transphobic or just boring old sexist pigs, and accept that the guys of today’s generations are generally okay people. And let go of my fears and insecurities. And accept that I am an older white woman with wrinkles and a passion for mostly younger men who don’t look like my dad (hairy) or brother (fat). Ah yes, I have accepted the superficiality of my sexuality, but if the look or feel or smell or taste is wrong, it can’t be put right, and it’s time to move on. And hey, I've got some special things to offer; a yoga-toned flexible mind and body, sexually uninhibited, able to take responsibility for my own desires, and comparitively free of breeding baggage and the standard bullshit of people who replicate sexism or gender warfare or their parent's dysfunctional relationships.
I’ve lived long enough to become Maude. Now, where’s Harold?