Yuuto, Part II

Screencaps or it didn't happen

June 25th, 2009

So the gaijin smash guy once said that the reason why Japanese women are consistently more popular among foreigners than Japanese men is because if you sleep with a Japanese woman, you wake up to find that she's cooked you breakfast and cleaned your house. If you sleep with a Japanese man, you wake up to find that he's used all your hairspray.

It's funny cuz it's true.

By Tuesday the rapid-fire texting had died down, so it was with some trepidation that on Wednesday I texted Yuuto to ask if we were still on for watching Casshern on Thursday. Ten minutes later--

"Yes, I want to watch it! Is it okay if I spend the night at your place tonight??"

--spittake SCREECH, and I wasn't even driving that time. I ju--wut?? I sort of blinked and stuttered a lot and when the staff girl (who is peripherally aware of the Yuuto thing) looked at me funny, I mutely held out the phone for her to read. I think it need not be said that my thinking wasn't entirely ordered at the time, but let's weigh the pros and cons:

- Hello, he is totally hot, and I'm all kinds of sweet on him.
- I just bug-bombed the place, so it's as clean as it's going to get on that front.
- This is a good night for it, seeing as I have the next day off.

- This is weirdly sudden. Perhaps he is A) going to murder me, B) going to steal my stuff, or C) homeless and just looking for a place to crash. ("Homeless?" said Shelley. "With fabulous hair?" "Point," I said.)
- I don't know this guy's sexual history. STDs??
- Hell, I don't even know his last name. Or whether Yuuto is even his real first name, for that matter.

Unsurprisingly, I went with DAMN THE TORPEDOES! because I knew I'd be kicking myself forever if I didn't. So we agreed to meet up at the station near my house, and I proceeded to spend the next four classes having a really hard time paying attention. I told my students that my absent-mindedness was due to the cold medication that I was [not!] taking. Because did I mention that I was coming down with a sore throat? Murphy's law of dating in-fucking-deed.

However, I still hadn't told him about the trannie thing.

Now I was optimistic, due in no small part to his "I don't know" answer when asked if he was gay. I liked that even better than I would have liked "I'm bi" -- straight guys can say, "I like girls!"; gay guys can say, "I like guys!"; and bi guys can say "I like girls and guys!" But... what if I'm none of the above? I need someone fluid. Someone who, say, doesn't know whether or not they're gay and isn't much bothered by that agnosticism. Still, it's a fraught subject so I approached it with understandable reluctance, delaying it until we were back at my house and he had settled in with a bento box.

I was now uncharacteristically quiet -- mostly just dragging my feet by this point since I'd already decided what would probably be the best way to say it -- and Yuuto kept trying to make conversation to fill the silence.

「ちょっと...言いたいことがある」 I finally said. I have something I need to tell you. Then in English, "I'm a transsexual."

He blinked and gave me a blank look. "What?"

Alright, well that was worth a shot, but apparently 'transsexual' was not in his lexicon. "I used to be a girl," I tried again.

Only to be met with another blank stare. Aaaand past-perfect tense is out too.

「女だった」 I said.

I saw the light dawn on his face as he understood, and by this time I was familiar enough with the coming-out process to see as he then mentally started cycling back through our previous interactions, reviewing them in light of this new information.

"Slim fingers," I said, referring to something he'd commented on the last time we'd met, when he'd tried to put on one of my rings and found that it only fit on the top joint of his pinky. I held up my hand and he settled his own palm against it before realizing what I was trying to point out. My hands don't exactly out me, since they're long and fairly masculine-shaped, but people tend to remark on them.

「やっぱり」 he said with a complacent nod, which indicates a lack of surprise at something that perhaps should have been a surprise. "You're too pretty to be a guy."

And I think I've learned something else from this too. See, when I'm hanging out in ni-choume I don't usually tell people about the trannie thing, because it's nice being able to pass and I want them to treat me as such. However, a couple times I have managed to attract unwanted suitors, which is when I do opt to trot out the trannie thing as a means of discouraging them, but it never works. And herein lies the revelation: I am still extremely androgynous, despite my best efforts. Guys who like manly men are only ever going to be passingly interested in me, even before they find out what is (or is not) in my pants. But for that subset of the population that really digs androgyny -- they know what they're setting themselves up for. It's the type who, like me, passes someone hot on the street and goes, "Hoooo, is that a man or a woman? Not that I really care, cuz it's lovely...!"

We talked about it for a little while longer, the basics of when I realized it, when I started hormones, that yes, I do in fact prefer dudes despite going through inordinate amounts of effort to become one. He asked what my given name was, and where the name Gabriel had come from.

Him: So do you have a bust?
Me: Yes.
Him: Can I... touch it?
Me: [thinking: That was sort of the game plan.] Sure.
Him: Ahh, you're wearing some kind of... thing.
Me: Uh-huh. Made only in Japan, actually.

So yeah! Settle us down on the futon to watch Silent Hill and then fade tastefully to black. All I will say is that at several points I was hard-pressed not to snicker, because I have read so much porn in Japanese (for my job, you understand) and it was bizarrely hilarious to hear some of those extremely familiar catchphrases coming from a real person. I don't know if it's a case of life imitating art or vice-versa.

And the next morning:

Him: Do you have any facial lotion?
Me: ...You are so lucky I'm gay.

I finish with a picture from our trip to Yoyogi Park later to play football. He wasn't too bad -- much better than Japanese girls, who feel the need to be spectacularly inept at everything so they don't run the risk of emasculating their boyfriends.

Yeah, so those glasses in the foreground? The ones that I remembered better than I remembered his face at first? ARE FAKE, HAH. They don't even have lenses, he just likes the look. Oh Japan, I LOVE YOUR MEN.

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