My Husband Looks Better In Lingerie Than I Do…
Damn It! (Bobbie Thompson Excerpts)
(A note from author Bobbie Thompson)
What you’re about to read below are excerpts from my memoir, My Husband Looks Better in Lingerie than I Do…Damn It!
I have written my memoir in two parts — Part 1, The Experience (of knowing Alan/Alana) and Part 2, Lessons Learned (things I’ve learned as an ‘outside looking in’ member of the transgender community — a community I wasn’t even aware existed until 2006). These excerpts come from the first several chapters of Part 1.
If you like what you read here, then feel free to get in touch with me: check out my book on Amazon / Kindle, or order a signed copy directly from me. I also welcome you to visit HungintheMiddle.com—my partner Alana’s memoir, which is the companion piece to my story. (Read Alana’s work @Medium.)
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INTRODUCTION
Those friggen names and pronouns. My normal every-day life experience is being married to a transgender person — someone I knew for nearly 30 years as Alan, as he or him, long before I ever became aware of Alana, as she or her. I still mix names and pronouns when I’m speaking to or about my spouse — and sometimes all in the same sentence. . . .
Names and pronouns are a problem within themselves, but they’re nothing compared to using and understanding various terms or vocabulary. I’ve found that no matter what words I use, someone doesn’t like it said ‘that way’ and will quickly let me know their word is the ‘politically correct’ way to say things. This writing comes from what I know, what I’ve learned since becoming aware of transgender persons in 2006 … not a very long time ago. I can only use the words I know or knew when I am writing about specific periods of time. As time progresses, I learn new terms and vocabulary that are considered more ‘modern’ or ‘acceptable’ and replaces many of the terms I learned initially. My vocabulary changes as my story progresses. However, in relaying my story and my understanding correctly, the words I use are the words I knew when expressing my experiences during particular time periods. The real kicker is, THE WORDS KEEP CHANGING, and I assume they always will since the only constant in life is change.
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“Hello,” I said as I put the phone receiver to my ear.
“Hi, it’s Alan,” he said. “My mom told me your mom told her that you and your husband are getting a divorce.”
“Yep,” I answered, “he moved out.”
“Well, I’m both sad and happy to hear that.”
“Sad and happy? You’re going to have to explain that one to me. I’m confused.”
“I’m sad because I know you’re going through rough times and I hate to see that.”
I thought, “Why do you hate to see me going through rough times, we’ve known one another for a long time, but we don’t know one another that well.” But I never had the opportunity to ask that question because what he said next threw me for a loop.
“And I’m happy because I finally get the chance to tell you how attracted I’ve been to you all these years. I’d like for us to get together.” . . .
“Well,” is all I could say because that was the only response I could come up with at that moment because I knew he was married.
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The day arrived for our ‘date’ and to say I was nervous would be a grave understatement. Right on time my doorbell rang. I opened the door and could immediately tell he was nervous as well.
“Come in,” I said and we walked to the couch and sat down. I don’t remember exactly what all we talked about, but we talked, and we talked, and we talked for what seemed like forever. I’m sure we had lengthy discussions on the weather, politics, and probably even religion. Well, maybe we left religion out of this particular conversation. But what we did NOT talk about was sex.
Finally I said, “If we’re going to do this I guess we’d better go into the bedroom. Although, I’m not really sure I’m able to do this. I’ve been married for 22 years and my self-esteem, especially when it comes to my body size, is so bad I didn’t even want my husband to see me naked. Now, I’m supposed to get naked in front of you?”
“You’re a beautiful sexy woman,” Alan said, “and it has nothing to do with your body but what comes from inside you — your spirit, your personality.”
Somehow those words enabled me to become calm enough to walk down the hallway and into the bedroom. I went around to one side of the bed and him the other. We just stood there for a moment facing one another, not really knowing what to do next. After all, we had been friends for a long time and a lot was at stake here — our families were friends — if this got out, how would their friendships be affected — not to mention our personal friendship we were taking a chance on loosing.
“OK,” he said, “we’ll get undressed at the same time then get under the cover. Maybe that will help us get more comfortable.”
We turned our backs to one another and undressed. As we faced each other my eyes immediately went low, and his high — “WOW” — was all either of us could say — and we said it simultaneously. We had both seen a naked body before, but neither of us had seen body parts that . . . BIG.
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Alan and I had been enjoying our lovers relationship for approximately three years when in early 1997 I met and started dating a man I referred to as ‘little redneck.’ We had been dating only a month or so before I realized I was changing my tune. I fought hard not to fall for this little redneck, but I knew I was in a losing battle with myself — a relationship was developing between us.
Once I realized I was beginning to have feelings for this little redneck, I knew the sexual relationship Alan and I shared had to end. I couldn’t imagine me having an open relationship with someone I was committed to nor could I bring myself to cheat by having an affair behind his back. That just wasn’t me.
I called Alan and asked him if he had time to come to the house. As always, his answer was, “Sure, I’ll be right over.” When he arrived I instructed him to take a seat on the couch. When he did I climbed onto his lap facing him so I could talk to him eye to eye. “You know the little redneck I’ve been dating — well, I think I’m beginning to have feelings for him. You know me and know I cannot continue our sexual relationship while building a relationship with him. We both knew we couldn’t go on like this forever, and I believe we’ve come to our end.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say something like that.
“So, we’re done, we’re finished?” he asked.
“We have come to the end of the sexual part of our relationship, but I hope we can remain friends. We were friends a long time before we became lovers.”
“I hope so too. I guess that means I should go.”
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I was on the phone with [my sister] Mitzi talking about first one thing then another when she suddenly said, “Oh, have you heard about Alan?”
The way she had asked the question I just knew something terrible had happened to him. Fear ran through me because I was aware of Alan’s reputation for driving fast. I expected her next words to be, “He got killed in a car wreck last night.” I swallowed hard trying not to let my feelings show, yet my voice was shaking as I replied, “No, what about Alan?”
She was apparently unaware of my reaction to her question and quickly said, “He thinks he’s a girl. He’s decided he wants to have a sex change operation.”
“At least he’s not dead,” I thought as silently I let out a sigh of relief. Then my next thought was, “best damn dick around and he wants to cut it off — what a waste.”
“Really?” I responded unable to hold back my surprise. I wanted to say, “The last time we were together he never mentioned anything like that to me,” but I couldn’t let her know anything about the history Alan and I shared.
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In mid-December 2006 I was sitting at my computer when I got an instant message on my screen. It was Alan. “Hey,” he said, “what’cha doin?”
“Just checking my e-mails real quick before I head out to go to the mall and do some Christmas shopping,” I replied.
“Mom and I are planning on going to the mall later, but we’re watching a UK basketball game right now. It would be nice if we could go to the mall together.”
“Yeah,” I typed, “but I don’t want to wait until after the game to go, I’m getting ready to go now. You can go with me, but you’d have to miss the game.”
“That’s OK with me; I don’t think mom was really looking forward to getting into the shopping crowd anyway. I’m the one who really needs to go to the mall, and I don’t mind missing the game. Can you come pick me up at mom’s?”
“Sure,” I said, “I’m leaving my house right now. I’ll be there in just a minute.”
I shut down the IM, grabbed my coat, and headed out the door. I hadn’t seen Alan since he’d stopped by my house when he was in for a short stay between trucking runs. I immediately wondered if we could have some ‘together’ time after our shopping.
I drove over to his mom’s and what came bounding out the front door was NOT what I expected — it was a girl — or rather it was a guy trying to look like a girl — but it wasn’t Alan. I’d heard the rumors that he wanted to be a girl, and I’d heard he’d changed his name to Alana, but Alan had never once mentioned any of it to me — I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. His hair was combed to the side resembling a female style. He was wearing tight jeans and his nails were long and polished light pink. To me he looked like someone confused as to which gender they were trying to portray — some of him looked like a man — and some of him looked like a woman — but to me all of him just looked bizarre.
“Oh my God,” I thought. My brain started running out of control, “Crap, now what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to be seen in public with THIS. How am I going to walk through the mall where everyone will see me with this freak-a-zoid?”
He got into my car and I couldn’t even bring myself to look in his direction. I was trapped. I’d already told him he could go to the mall with me, but I didn’t know this freak was who I’d be walking through the mall with. I backed my car out of the driveway and headed toward Lexington. Along the way we carried on a polite insignificant conversation but there was absolutely no chemistry between me and the person sitting next to me. This person was in no way Alan — my friend, my lover, the masculine aggressive man I’d compared other men to.
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Once we finished our shopping we decided to stop in the food court for a snack. As we sat across the small table from one another it was quite obvious that Alana was beginning to flirt with me. “You’re so cute,” she girlishly taunted pointing a finger at me with its perfectly polished nail.
“Look,” I said sternly, “let’s get something straight right here and now. I want to make it perfectly clear to you that I can be your ‘friend,’ because I can be friends with anyone. But that’s all we can ever be, ‘just friends.’ There’s no way in hell you and I can ever have the type of relationship that Alan and I had. In all honesty, you already have a strike against you because when you’re here you take Alan away from me, and it’s Alan that I have a relationship with.”
Within my own brain I identified Alan and Alana as two separate entities — one male, and one female. I’d heard about ‘split personalities’ from that movie that was so popular many years ago, “Sybil” where Sally Fields plays the starring role. I understood Alan and Alana as being two separate entities — two separate personalities.
You could tell the words I said had hurt Alana’s feelings, but I couldn’t help it. That’s the way I felt — that’s just the way it is and that’s that. All of a sudden our being together became strained once again. We quickly finished eating with little talking and headed home. The ride home was almost as uncomfortable for us as the ride to the mall had been. As we approached town Alana said, “Take me back to mom’s house.”
“I don’t mind taking you home,” I said.
“Mom’s house is home,” she answered. “I’ve been living there for several months now. Mary and I are separated.”
“Do WHAT?” I almost shouted. “You’re separated and you never called to tell me?”
“What the hell was I supposed to say Bobbie? I’m single now, but guess what; I’m really a woman in a man’s body?”
I again found myself swallowing hard and choking back tears as I pulled into the driveway. As Alana stepped out of the car door I opened my door and stepped out as well. We met in front of the car. I gave her a brief hug as she pecked a good-bye kiss on my cheek and quickly ran toward the house. I barely made it back into my car before the sobbing began. To me, it was if I had just learned that Alan was dead. I went home and cried for hours.
Learn more and discover “What’s Inside…”
Thank you for taking the time to read these excerpts. Exactly two years after our trip to the local Mall Alana and I were married. My story relays the journey of MY transition from being so closed minded and seeing Alana as a ‘freak-a-zoid’ to becoming Alana’s Spouse.
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