By Robyn Walters
Both the ‘Bi’ and the ‘Plus’ were late and totally unexpected. The Plus came first, with the advent of the internet and my youngest daughter heading off to college. An empty nest and, even with a demanding job, more free time.
Yahoo search engine. How neat. It seemed that the world was at my fingertips. So much to explore. C-R-O-S-S-D-R-E-S-S-E-R. A new world opened up to me, my marriage crumbled, and I began a long-delayed voyage of discovery. I knew that I didn’t fit well in the world of men—not a macho bone in my body.
A year and some later, my wife of 24 years and I split, and I moved to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. I found some sort of fashion sense at age 60 and even had my ears pierced. Heady times and an increased sense of freedom and of being right. Gender counseling began to unravel the mystery and drove my recognition back to age nine. Then came the bombshell: “Robyn, you’re not a crossdresser; you’re transsexual. What are you going to do about it?”
Gone was any hope of reconciliation or accommodation with my estranged wife. On came the beginnings of cross-gender hormone replacement therapy. With estrogen came the bi part. There was a sudden recognition one day, while driving to an elec- trolysis appointment, that the young fellow walking down the road with no shirt was attractive, exciting. I almost lost control of the car in disbelief. I was 61 years old and never gay. Women were still my main attraction. Surely, I would find a soulmate who could accept my gender transformation.
Not long after I scheduled my gender confirmation surgery, it happened, but not at all the way I expected. Of course not. Life is what happens while we’re making other plans.
Emery and I had met in an online transgender group for older transgender people. We had a lot in common, it seemed. Similar interests, similar parents, a compatible world view, and I went to meet him. Ended up meeting his family. They seemed okay that their mother had this new transgender friend. Yes, their mother. Emery is a female-to-male transsexual. Sort of a bi relationship in the beginning, except for physical differences.
A year later, after an amicable divorce from my wife, Emery and I married: man and wife. Months later, I had my surgery: a lesbian marriage before it was legal. The state didn’t care; the Feds didn’t care.
After another year, Emery had his surgery: now wife and man. Changing all the paperwork was the hardest part.
We have been married for over nineteen years, a traditional marriage with no cheating, no extra partners. He has a thing for gay guys. I have a thing for both men and women. So we each have our fantasies, but, at 82 years old, I am satisfied with being a non-practicing member of the bi-plus community. There’s always the next life.
Robyn Walters was AMAB (assigned male at birth), but it never fit right. She tried, but, late in life, the woman won. She is glad to have these years with matching mind, body, and spirit.