On the overlooked female male-gay rights


I have always felt like a male gay trapped in this woman’s body. It’s been a wonderful year for gay and transgender rights, here in Athens, kicking off with the Paola Revenioti’s post art exhibition frenzy. But I feel there is absolutely no sympathy in Greek society or any other society for that matter for women feeling they are in fact gay men.

I always had problems fitting in with the girly girl crew, as they used to mock, bully and manipulate me. Until the third grade that is, when I met my best friend, Nicolas, who moved in next door. We became inseperable and he was the reason I slowly infiltrated the boy crew. I remeber wearing flowery dresses and pink sandals, while all the boys treated me like one of them, throwing around skateboards, jumping over fences, listening to Metallica, Paradise Lost, Megadeth and Dream Theatre and playing computer games. I finally felt accepted for what I was, although until this day there is virtually no literature on the matter.

We used to stay in Nicolas’ room with the gang until early morning hours talking about music, our family problems and other gangs, who bullied us, plotting to fill up our water guns with cat pee and tomato sauce. I used to giggle when the GI JO action figure box emerged, as I was pretty clear about how this was so wrong,  a girl of my age surely should have been playing with barbie dolls, so I always chose Lady J, a chick with short hair and a casual army outfit, no one else wanted anyways.

It wasn’t until we got to around 12 years of age, when porn made it’s incredible mark on our time spent together, that I felt something was just not right. Everyone still treated me like a boy, even though I wore skirts and talked like a girl and even fancied a couple of them. They even offered to bring me along to a brothel they sometimes visited, but I never ended up going, as we were all a bit concerned it would just look really weird.

At around 14, I started feeling pressure, like I had to get something out of my chest and redefine myself. I had spent half of my life with guys, being one of them, enjoying the brotherhood and innocence of a boy-gang, but the frustration of realising they had never noticed I wore skirts, or had boobs became greater and greater. It’s probably then, when it happened… I just didn’t feel like a girl, it almost felt like I was a cross-dressing boy, fancying other boys. So I just had a huge go at them on the exploitation of women in mainstream porn and my dissent for the objectification of female prostitutes, especially immigrants, by ignorant young boys who didn’t understand anything about where they came from and why they had sex for money and fled the crew. I did however, still hang out with them every once in a while, but had made it quite clear, I simply would not tolerate any more tasteless mainstream porn.

Growing up, I always felt pretty jealous of gay men. They seemed to belong to these cliques and would always talk like glitter sparkled on their darkness. They were always so pretty and sexy and clever and sweet, while later on they seemed to get the best jobs and establish the most meaningful and loving relationships I had ever encountered. However, even though I had a couple of good gay friends, I was never their favourite, as they probably always detected there was something weird about the sexuality I subtly put forward. I felt politely rejected by them, but simultaneously incredibly related to them.

It still hurts a bit, to be rejected by your own kind. That is why I would like to raise awarenes on the minority of female male-gays. Please spend a minute to consider those who have no identity or rights and next time you come across one, go on and be considerate.

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