No I Don’t Want To Be Your Boi Toy…
I opened the e-mail – clearly a photo taken on Cannon Beach. I love Cannon Beach great memories there of time spent with J., the ocean, the quality of the sunlight, the awe inspiring rocks that distinguish the beach from any other place on earth. A holy place, a spiritual place. It’s one of my favorite places in Oregon. In the photo a woman, not unattractive, was standing on the beach in front of her Range Rover. I read on…”looking for a boi with an all knowing smile”. She was wealthy, accomplished and apparently would travel any distance – in this case across the country for her “boi” toy.
She had decided I was the “boi” she had to have. I guess I was supposed to fall in love with the suv? I’m not sure, I certainly wasn’t falling for her intellect or sensitivity.
I contemplated replying but instead hit delete, then I deleted my on-line dating account. It was not the first time someone was offensive to me, not the first time someone wanted me to play a role. In this case to be a rich woman’s boi toy.
(One could blog about the hellish and humorous experiences of on-line dating until the end of time but I digress)
I don’t get it – I don’t get roles and labels. Never have. Have always felt like a third sex, androgynous and undefined. Evolved beyond societal expectations I’ve felt this way as long as my memories can stretch back. Why would I want to be a girl or a boy – why can’t I just be and do anything I want to?
I never wanted to be pretty, or nice, or kind, to play with dolls, or lose at anything. If I heard “girls don’t do that” I did it. If girls were supposed to do something I didn’t.
Later it made dating hard, while I always dated really rather atypical, sensitive men that were not sexist – anything remotely resembling a gender expectation sent me off. I resented the roles I was expected to play – less intelligent, less assertive, weaker, more emotional. R. would say he liked my hair longer and each time he said it I cut it shorter. I remember a time when he said he liked how my hands looked. “Why” I asked. He said, “Your nails look nice, feminine”. I went inside got the nail clippers came back out onto the porch cut them all off in front of him. “What are you doing”? “I’m cutting them off”. Poor R. I was really insufferable.
I have always been tired of the male voice, the voice of authority – the voice of our government, our media telling me what to do, who to vote for, what to watch out for, I’m tired of a world where men say “no” and that is the end of the discussion and when women say “no” and that is the beginning of negotiations. Tired, tired, tired.
I’m not a boi or a boy. I’m not a girl. I’m a human being.
Roles, labels – butches, femmes, bois, dykes, bull dykes, stone butches, soft butches and on, and on, and on, and on.
To label is to confine, define, segregate. To label is to make me different from you – if I am different, you can discriminate and separate from me.
Don’t tell me you worship my masculinity, or my femininity or any label you want to give me, any role you want me to play. I don’t want to play a role. If we relate to one another I don’t want you to play to my strengths…I want you to draw out my weaknesses so that I can become more whole, grow and evolve.
I don’t understand roles – I don’t want to always drive the car in the relationship and I won’t sit as a passenger on my life’s journey either.
I am strong and weak,
male and female,
I am tall and short.
Smart and stupid.
I am brave and fearful,
articulate and silent,
and sometimes cruel.
I’m a human being hoping to meet another human being.
I’ll have a boyish moment and paint my toenails pink the next. But I don’t get roles, labels – confined, defined, trapped, imprisoned, parts of me killed.
I won’t have my opportunities to be a whole person molested, subjugated, raped. What is so beautiful, and lovely, and loving about same sex attractions and experiences in my opinion is the communication and freedom from roles. One can create a whole new language – the one of one soul meeting another.
I am sure I am going to come back to this topic again and again – it’s one I have spent my lifetime thinking about.