Wednesday group at Ingersoll Gender Center
Here we are and we have each other. (I want to call you buddies like I’ve heard guys do with friends, but we’ve only just met and the word feels foreign and thick on my tongue, out of place as much as perfect, like
the first time I put on a dildo, held it in place between the button of my jeans and the zipper because I didn’t yet have a harness, and I did my girl like that and it felt so right it was like crying, so deep in my gut, but like someone was watching and laughing at me too, or when
a cabbie yelled to me out the window of his car, not a catcall, he yelled “Hey buddy, help me out” and the craggy asphalt, crinkled autumn leaves, calculation of what kind of lunch I could muster on a dollar fifty-nine, gone—just that brotherhood feeling taking over and I was listening then—
I thought I’d stop breathing just then, till he saw me close up and apologized for the mistake.)
