My first trans, or, looking for love in all the right places

 It was 2001- just before 9/11. In Genova, Italy at the G8 summit where all the powerful leaders were meeting. The streets were filled with 1000’s and 1000’s of protesters: dancing, singing, chanting, smiling. The cops started to get rough. It turned into a battle zone: tear-gas, smashed heads, tears, fear and anger.

Then some news passed thru the streets.A young man had been killed- shot dead by a cop.

Everything changed: yes, anger but also sadness and a sense of hopelessness.

I had performed just hours before in a theater piece.

I was disgusted after the news of this senseless death.

I left the protest and wandered alone to the old city center- toward the neighborhood of prostitutes, junkies, homeless and hustlers. I always found myself in these places: found myself in these places.

From her doorway she called me over, invited me in.

Half-way through the blow job I realized that she was a he. A chick with a dick. Oh well- I thought.

Might as well go on. After I came in her she seemed to want to talk. I left. Later I felt guilty for not sticking around, talking. She was my first and only trans lover.

Note: i wrote out this story in Washington Square park where this guy collects stories. You only get one page to write your story on.