Date an intersexed lady
Everything that didn't make sense in my tortured world—even the scars—blossomed into perfect clarity when viewed through that lens: I am a lesbian! But I also carried another truth, a terrible corollary to the first secret: I cannot be with women.
For being with a woman revealed what I wasn't—"finished," a girl, normal—and (so much worse) revealed what I was—a freak, a monster, an anomaly.
I wandered through that labyrinth for another ten years, with a gender identity and desires born of those medical procedures. At 21 I found myself, a college dropout and a runaway, in bed with an older woman, my second sexual partner and the first naked woman I had ever seen or touched.What had been an embarrassingly large clitoris was suddenly revealed to have been a hideously deformed penis, and the possibility of ever being with a woman became even more remote; the wondrous, wonderful identity that had lasted all of a plane flight from LAX to JFK—lesbian—was robbed again, seemingly forever.Now fully convinced I was a monster, I stayed with my husband, certain no one else could ever love or want me. With all the force and subtlety of a tsunami, she flooded my senses, roared through my heart and my bed.When I was born, the doctors couldn't tell my parents what I was: They couldn't tell if I was a boy or a girl.Between my legs they found "a rudimentary phallus" and "fused labio-scrotal folds." They ran their tests, they poked and prodded, and they cut open my belly, removed my gonads, and sent them off to Pathology.