I came out as a gay male in high school during my sophomore year. It was 1990 and I had my first boyfriend, who was in school with me and a year older.
We were in a production of “Oklahoma!” together, during which I began to make it clear that I was interested in him. I knew he had told some people that he was gay so I would not be barking up the wrong tree. He was funny, gregarious and charming. I set my sights on making him mine. It was innocent enough. I put a note in one of his textbooks. Then through a chain of female friends, we began passing notes. Not nearly as simple as “Do you like me – circle yes or no,” but also nothing as earth-shattering as “I am gay, you are gay, should we be gay together?”
We mostly discussed weekend plans, referenced rehearsals or made inside jokes. Then we began to include random hearts drawn above the “i’s.” Finally, I – with much fretting and sweating – decided to write “Love, Berry” at the end of an exchange.
Would that be too much? We had only been talking for a few days, but I had to let him know how I felt or I was going to just burst. But what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he was just being nice? Or worse, what if he just wanted to be friends?
I could not live with that. I would have flung myself on a large bed with satin covers like any true cartoon princess in that moment, if I had an audience and the bed. Alas, my fears were unrequited, but my feelings were not! In the next note I received, he ended it with “Love,” and his name.
All was well in the world and just like in my cartoon fantasy, the woodland creatures were once again dancing around my princess feet. We began our relationship surrounded by a small circle of female friends that would hang out with us during rehearsals.
We would all be sitting together chatting, the girls in their long gingham rehearsal skirts, spreading them wide to hide the sight of he and I holding hands beneath their excess material. It was magical to me.
I had gotten the guy and I did not have much agita in getting him either. We sailed through the rehearsals and run of the show with teenage tenderness. It was a sweet relationship, one where we were kind to each other, supported each other, listened to one another and truly became friends.
I experienced pretty much all of my “firsts” with him, but like all “firsts,” the relationship ended. I am happy that it happened and am grateful for the sweet memories.
In my dating career, I have had two sets of two-and-a-half year runs of pseudo-monogamy within a seven-year span. The relationships could not be more different simply because the two guys could not have been more different.
I have been mostly single since 2008, for many reasons. For one thing, I find that I get very uncomfortable with online dating. I am much more comfortable and much more myself in person. I am so much less focused on trying to be what the picture on the other side of the screen wants me to be when I am talking to someone face to face.
While prior to the pandemic I would frequent bars, a lot of the time it was because I was working in them as an entertainer. Other times, when I was just out socializing, my anxiety would lead to a lack of self-esteem and fear of rejection that would become so overwhelming I would self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. Who wants to date an aging, drugged out, lost soul?
I took a hard look at what my life was, what I wanted it to be and I made changes and sought help. I chose me. I am now living my truth as a transgender woman of a certain age. I have been clean for some time, with an occasional set-back that I refuse to beat myself up for, and I am ready to have someone else in my life.
So, what to do? I refuse to be someone’s fantasy and I refuse to be someone’s fetish, but there are certain things about me one must accept in order to be with me. Due to the pandemic, meeting people in public places is potentially life threatening. There is also the frighteningly constant threat of violence towards transgender women.
I do not have the answers and it is difficult. It is a problem the transgender community faces in unprecedented ways and not just during a pandemic. I am looking for someone who will not try to lead me, who will not follow behind me, but who will walk beside me in this life.
Maybe though, that love I’m looking for is the love I get from being in front of an audience, from “Oklahoma!” to now. Maybe I have already had the love of my life. I’m not certain but I hope not – and I think that is the operative word: hope.
Berry Ayers, aka Beneva Fruitville, has performed for audiences onstage from New York to Fiji. On screen, she can be seen on Amazon Prime and ABC7’s Suncoast View. She has been honored for her theatrical roles and volunteer work.
