In his book Fire in the Belly, Sam Keen identified two key questions that all of us would do well to consider from time to time:

• Where am I going?
• Who will go with me?

(He also points out that the questions need to be answered in this order.)

These questions correspond closely with the difference between affectional orientation and gender identity. The first question, "Where am I going?" includes a more fundamental question, "Who am I?" This is the heart of the transgender issue. Many transgendered people identify with both genders, and find that choosing only one--to the exclusion of the other--is impossible. An alternative is to pick one as the primary, but to cherish the other. When the primary is also the gender of birth, the person is a cross-dresser. Transsexuals identify primarily--or only--with the gender opposite the gender of birth. A person who self-identifies as androgynous gives approximately equal weight to the two.

Many transsexuals find it difficult to think or feel anything good about their gender of birth. The body can become a prison, a mockery of the person the transsexual wants to be. Several difficulties can come from this: a sense of disassociation from the body, attempts at genital mutilation, suicide. The rate of suicide attempts among male-to-female transsexuals has been estimated as high as 21%. ( I don't know where I stand in relation to this number. I have considered suicide, accepted it, planned it, but not attempted it. Was gender part of the issues that were taking me down? I used to think not, but now I know that I'll never be sure of that.)

If I cannot cherish my maleness, I can and must acknowledge it. It is my history, and that history will remain a part of me for the rest of my life. It is a history that I will never share as a common bridge with another woman, except for those transsexuals who join me in choosing to become a woman. It is a history that I cannot replace with an alternate history of growing up as a female. I was once asked what I would miss about being male, and the only thing I could think of was the ability to stand to pee in a public restroom. (I sit at home, and I always have.) But in truth it has been better than that, and there will be things that I will miss. I do not yet know what those things will be, and possibly cannot know until they are gone.

An update:When I finally transitioned, a few months after writing this, I had fully integrated my male side into my new life. I no longer carry his name, but he lives on within me. Much more than language can allow me to express, we are one.

The second question, "Who will go with me?" asks the question of affectional orientation. To state that one is "gay" or "straight" implies the ability to state that one is male or female. At this point in transition, I am neither male nor female, so I have no frame of reference. Instead, I say that I have a relationship with a woman. What does that make me? There is no label for a relationship in which one partner is a transsexual in transition.

Cross-dressers, transgendered people who retain a strong identity with their gender of birth, do not face this dilemma. Nor do they differ all that much from the general population. Estimates for nale-to-female cross-dressers indicate that 65% to as many as 90% self-identify as heterosexual.

The situation is much less clear for transsexuals. Affectional orientation seems to be about evenly divided among male-to-female transsexuals before transition, although again there is some variation in estimates. After transition, the most believable estimate I have encountered is that about 40% of post-op male-to-female transsexuals are lesbians. (After surgery, the use of a label seems more reasonable; when the body and mind finally match, transsexualism becomes more a matter of personal history than of current issues.) So the pre-transition and post-transition numbers are not terribly different.

All of this leads me to two conclusions:

• Hormone therapy does not significantly alter affectional orientation. As I write this, I have been on hormones for thirteen months. That is long enough for my brain to react to the changing hormonal balance, and react it has. It seems that everything about my sexuality has changed: arousal patterns, emotional involvement, satisfiers. The one thing that has not changed is my orientation. At this point, I have no reason to believe that further changes will occur (in this area, anyway!).
• For many transsexuals, the period of transition brings about a level of openness and self-examination that can open a person up to the possibilities within. It can be a time of experimentation, of discovery. If the bisexuals are right, that most of us are truly bisexual, then there may be much to discover.

On the other hand, it can be a time for new denials. Some male-to-female transsexuals seem to get caught up in the feeling that, "I'm a woman now. I need to do the things that a woman does, and it will be right for me." It seems almost an attempt to validate, after the fact, what the hormones and surgery have already accomplished. Could this lead a person to deny the truth about affectional orientation? Could the societal imperative to be heterosexual, combined with the new woman's need to blend into the woodwork, bury the question of affectional orientation? I can only speculate on this, but I do have a hunch.

I have less information about female-to-male transsexuals. In this country, female-to-male transsexuals typically come out from the lesbian community, and seem to be generally heterosexual after surgery. I suspect that a large part of this is influenced by environmental and social issues; other female-to-males simply may not come out. Support group availability may also be an issue; many female-to-males find that they do not get what they need from support groups where male-to-female people are the dominant group.

Although gender identity is a separate issue from affectional orientation, it is not possible to examine the gender question without setting the stage for examining the orientation question. On the other hand, it may not be possible to examine the orientation question without considering gender. The orientation question is usually stated as a choice of heterosexual or homosexual, either different or same. As a transsexual, I'd prefer to see this stated as an orientation for men or women; either of these orientations can be stated by either a man or a woman--or by a person whose presentation is male or female, regardless of underlying gender issues. The key is to look at both ends of the choice--e.g., "I'm a woman, and I prefer other women." But what if this choice--woman preferring women--is the affectional orientation of a biological male?

A friend, a pre-op male-to-female transsexual who is on hormones and living full-time as a woman, stated this dilemma very clearly to me: She wants a man in her life, but only as a woman. She is not interested in a relationship with a man, as a man. She would like to have a relationship in her life now, but only with a man who understands and accepts her as a woman.

All of us, in our minds, see ourselves acting from a specific gender, as well as with a particular gender. Our ideal partnerships are based on two people, ourselves and another. Because these images originate inside the mind, they are based on our internal gender identity. But a transsexual, whose body does not match his or her gender identity, cannot possibly have a relationship that fulfills the dream--the physiological sex of at least one partner will not match the images in the mind. A relationship can be satisfying only if the transsexual is able to reach an accommodation with the shortcomings of his or her own body. Not all of us are able to do this, and it becomes increasingly difficult as one comes to terms with the issues of transsexualism. Transition both eases the burden, as hormone therapy reduces the internal discomfort of gender dysphoria, and can also accentuate the burden, as dissatisfaction with the physical body may increase with each passing day. Transition is also likely to cause problems for a partner, as reality changes away from the partner's image of the relationship.

Is it any wonder that transsexuals find relationships to be difficult? Many transsexuals I have talked to actively avoid relationships during transition. They want the companionship and support of a relationship, but at the same time, they recognize the costs, both to themselves and to a partner. Relationships are possible, but the partner must be open to accept ambiguities of gender, and must be able to look beyond this to love the person inside.

Another friend of mine described coming out to one of her close friends, and to that friend's wife. After hearing all the issues, the wife hesitantly asked, "So what flavor do you prefer?"

For a transsexual, there is only one flavor that makes sense. It's called, "Rocky Road."