A Libido: My Life as an Hermaphrodite by Wendy Lou Wainer - HTML preview

By Robben Wainer

In my song to myself, I see a vision a fair complexioned mountain nymph, bathing herself in a

thin silk robe by a clear pond, while she is caressing Lilly flowers as she passes by with a stroke of her

gentle touch. She is my secret self, bathing in mystery and perfection, with a sense of wonder, and a

quiet refrain in tears of loss. Yet she does not stare at her reflection she is a natural passion I have, to

become her. She arouses in me the most zealous nature of inner conflict and struggle, as her innocence

foretells the sadness in the desperation of men and their quest for power. Her breasts are open and there

is a thought that there is a heaven is my refuge. Seeing for the first time in the wilderness someone

who is perhaps all I will ever know about my relationship to self and the opposite sex.

In the same song I see a handsome male who is sturdy and robust. His displeasure is that few

people are left aware of his victories. He is brown haired with a touch of gold, as he is indeed staring at

the beauty of his own reflection. He sees a never ending fate in proving himself in battles of a jealous

nature. He sees the paradox of being blinded by his one sided attempt to find nocturnal pleasure. He is

a self seeking Narcissist, and wishes only for the honor's of the Gods to pay him respect, as he is

possessed with extreme natural beauty.

2.

I was born to my Mother and to my twin sister. My mother was my first experience with

pleasure and pain and fear or flight. My sister I dreamed of like she was Cleopatra. Incest in my family

was done subjectively, hurtfully, but in some cases by mutual consent. My sister was my first sexual

transmission of pleasureful energy. She was a queen who was as strong physically and mentally as any

of my male peers. As we shared intercourse the first time, her goal was to remove the fear of male

nudity from my experience. With her I may never have been a closet homosexual other than the fact

that we left one another, and to my misfortune I became a lost soul moving in the direction of phobia.

My sister was a natural athlete. I only equaled her when I would dance. To my embarrassment I came

to my first high school gym class wearing high heeled leather boots with a fur lining. It was three

months before I showed up again in sneakers.

I say my Sister was like Cleopatra as her ideology lead her to emulating Queen Isabella of

Spain, not because she was in denial, but because she set the pattern for my initial bi-sexuality, when at

first I was only aroused by her firm muscular body, and with other boyfriends when thinking of her.

This is the story of my libido and what it means to be a single gendered hermaphrodite, as I had wished

that for all the radical views of politics inherited by family, that my later decision to come out of the

homosexual closet could be a great emotional victory that leads the way to freedom of choice, and

freedom of belief,

I grew up with my older brother who had a deceptive way of living in a wet dream. He was

vulnerable, as his sexual energy lead him to being victimized, as it it also lead to his sadism. I could

hear him in his bedroom, while ejaculating into his sheets, as by the fourth or sixth time per day. He no

longer had any feeling of pride left for our family. I was sitting on pins and needles hoping for a

normal experience. It seems the only feeling that was worth anything was to continue to share my

innocence in dance and gymnastics, without the embarrassment of seducing my sister in response to my

passes. Yet she came to terms with my struggle for identity, as it took me almost twenty years to do the

3.

this, with confessions, and an attempt at living a priestly nature. My family shares a resistance to

confiding in intimacy with one another, primarily for the reason, that at one time we had made each

other our partners, when we needed to show careful discretion. I found in this strange way that I could

be as good as the girls, as I realized this was already an experience of role reversal.

My puberty ran through me like a fast moving train. It was the first time that jealousy proved to

be a mental obsession so powerful that I left my parents at their wits end, uncertain if they could rely

on me for family support. During my parents divorce, my father had taken up with my best friends

mother, who smothered me with kisses as we made secret love of our wishful thinking. I became her

fetish her kind of play doll, as I felt agony that I was making my Mother's condition worse. The guilt

and shame of a masturbatory crush became potent as I began to date my Father's companion. I grew

compulsive as I realized I had crossed the boundaries. I suffered from a psychosis that influenced me

into inciting jealousy. Really I was taken advantage of and used by a woman whose fatal obsession

would result in her chastity. She became sadistic as it seemed I became the object of her destruction, as

sadistically she tried to manipulate the circumstance to show me how many people had been hurt,

including herself for taking up with a child.

I slept with her son, who is the first person I gained the influence that competition incites harm

on their neighbor. He was a mature adolescent who loved the temptation of nudity and the willingness

shared by his male counterparts to be his lovers. He had a violent streak that was not afforded to him,

as his day dreaminess set him off in a path of self defamation that almost made him catatonic. Inspired

by the times that our group was to become the minds of the future. You've never seen two boys acting

like such girls, while wondering what it would feel like to lose their virginity.

4.

There I was the sex idol of a family who left me impressionable and often times physically hurt.

My brother took us to midnight movies, as we transgressed into the worlds of becoming transvestites. I

don't know why I found this enjoyable. My school performance began to suffer, as I felt that to return

to my origin I must do so as a female. I prided myself on the emotional victories, as I was left in

complete abandon by my Mother who just grew scared that I was letting my instincts and impulses

create so much damage. I thought I was protected but was really introduced to my own exploitation

and the exploitation of others as sex symbols for the first time.

I became introduced to the concept of sex,drugs and rock and roll for the first time in private

school. Never had I seen so many rich kids using and getting high to such an extent. I was in love with

a girl, or believed a bisexual experience could last, as I experienced oral sex for the first time with her

older lovers. She had had many lovers, as I sat and melted just wishing she could take off her clothes to

repeat the experience that created in me the vision of becoming a teen idol. This love or wishful

thinking did not reciprocate. How quickly did I move into the darkness like a spell, of being trapped by

my own precariousness. I was building for myself my own closet filled with the different personality

types of men I wished to become.

So often the exploits of emotion make one feel bitterly used, as attempts at suicide can feel like

they may be a final restitution. My family grew bitterly angry, as I had already made my exploits of

being a fashionable queen present. We no longer believed in the sanctity of my mind, as girls kept

calling my home to tell me their fantasies. I lived in a play land that grew increasingly dangerous. As

the values of soundness of minds detached me from setting realistic goals.

This was my social network at the time, for making the mistake of being cute, I was cut down to

size by my own submissions, really I could never take drugs safely without this feeling of castration,

and the emptiness that rose in a great depression. I was scared as a teenager, and alone with my feelings

which insured that I would become vulnerable and victimized. My only solution was to be that teen

5.

idol, which I never came close to until my late twenties and early thirties, when I made some

movement happen as a bass player who fancied the rhythm and blues. These were my days of wine and

roses which were too much for a child to take in. Not until my teenage years ended did it become

imperative to make restitution to my Mother, my father who just witnessed all of this, and were never

quite sure what to believe or what to expect. The vain glorious need for real stimulation from a partner

who could understand gay incentives became imperative. There were whole years that followed where I

was protected by lovers who helped me to feel good about having male partners,and my experience

with them.

The jazz scene caught my attention during a state of emotional trouble. I listened to men recite

my oedipal complex on their instruments, while I could not fully get in touch with my own sense of

self. I had come along way in physical abilities, a point that I will return to. While for now I am

referring to a time when I grew my hair long, wore dashikis and smoked clove cigarettes. We all had

the dream of making a pilgrimage to travel out west. The state of free love was a temptation that incited

a state of inhibitions. I learned that I did in fact have family who were survivors of the Holocaust. Yet

my mind was bent on cheap thrills and getting over. I was living a hobo's lifestyle, one in which envy

plagued me with angry toxins. Yet I surrendered in defeat having failed the test of heroics that would

have been the path I chose for myself.

I inherited a Casanova complex from my Father, but my mind was busy, and never experienced

being adored by a harem. All of the teenage fantasies and stories I took in created an isolated anxiety

that made me feel as though the truth of my emotions were too confused to feel anything other than

pain. In truth I was in a crisis. I was picked up one night for an evening of fellatio by a woman who got

me high as I lay in bed with her menage a tois. As much as I wanted to be an expert at cunnilingus. I

was disgraced by observing her lover penetrate her.

I had only believed in a pure form of love with the opposite sex. After a couple of nights of

6.

busing tables, I got in with a homosexual crowd. I was insulted as being their pre madonna youth, I

enjoyed the penetration while it lasted until the restaurant had exceeded it's limits of living out their

fantasy. I was understanding the concept of bullying without being aware of the subject. While it was a

losing game, for as much as I wanted to be just different I was being ostracized by my own community.

I would lose sight of my own virtue over drinks and getting high, and did not fully accept the pure

beauty of the same sex attraction. In fact I was living a life that was a little dirty, while wishing my

rebelliousness would lead to a statement.

Yet I was punished for it and given a juvenile delinquent card . Which made me certain I had

steered clear into the wrong type of trouble, for being so highly influential as to the carnal pleasure

which but for the grace of God could have made me a dope addict.

Nudity has always been an issue in my family. As to it being oedipal, constraining and exposing

fears that lead to isolation. With an idyllic rationalization in my family that we believed in that

summarized our lack of dress for living the way the Gods had intended us to live. My brother had

already become a psycho maniac, and psycho somatic. I, lost in my pilgrimage out west which made no

room for innocence. With my only thought being that to include myself in the gay life was as good as

any. Yet I was destroyed by my own condition of not knowing what to expect from adulthood, half

knowingly that I was living in denial. I became the cause and effect of all of my fears. As I was afraid

of becoming an adult.

Masculinity was a beautiful state of grace in my thoughts, but somehow in a perverted sense it

became the self seeking that occupied me with a reason to let men touch my body. I don't know when I

stopped having the need to be a girl, or why that feeling comes back in deceptive ways when I am

traumatized. I only wish that my full maturity did not have to be dressed up, for a fashion show, or a

statement about an androgynous female persona.

My mother was clearly intellectually stronger than my father, and while a woman of great skill,

7.

was the only person to show me patients enough to allow me to allow me to feel my feeling, and all of

my thoughts and emotions. I remember being kicked out of high school for truancy, and collapsed in

the corner and wept with grief. I cried because of the fact that people were important to me, and grew

sensitive to the feeling of letting others down, and to those who stood in my way, while for the most

part the choices weren't clear, as they seemed to drift from one episode to the next. I was given the

advice not to change, meaning not to change again, and for that I was thankful for. Yet I do not always

know what carries over from one period to the next, when submitting to phobia feels like the same

punishment I felt, when accused of not feeling the feelings of others.

I had the ability to stretch into a perfect split as a Ballet dancer from the age of five to fifteen.

Afterward to perform one, took strict discipline either in fasting, and/or with my vices. By the age of

fourteen I had earned a degree as a black belt in Judo. I gradually lost interest in professional sports,

while this gradual decrease, I was caught in some moments of amazement while watching the

Olympics. As a dancer I grew out of my first fatal attraction and found compatibility with a competitor,

who believed as I do that there should be some distance for an affair to work.

The Bolshoi was my most promising accomplishment in Ballet, while having to kiss the

choreographers on the lips as they referred to me as their little Labium. I played a number of roles some

in the U.S.S.R. But was becoming increasingly more effeminate. In fact I was becoming effeminate to a

point of exaggeration, where one of my own performances was a biographical sketch performed by

trans gender assimilation of my body on stage. Dance proved to be my foundation in the only real

athletics I competed in which was gymnastics, while I was being removed from school to adapt to a life

of literary works, in school I only overcame my fear of being in the closet, and of women.

My dance partner believed that women possessed a great strength if, and when they could focus

on feminine virtues. We were compatible in a way that built confidence in each others steps. I was

8.

mixed up and in the closet. She did not have as much experience with men who might like to partner

with her, she had an unmovable place in my heart, as I found that mutually we were skilled at reading

each others conscious. Together we had children, but were also in danger of anorexic preferences. I had

never seen myself so clearly as I had in her, as the trust in distancing ourselves in crisis, always seemed

to reciprocate some fortuitous comment or statement about what love means. We raised our children

together, while when not performing or taking classes, I tried to stay home for them. The task was too

challenging for me as a teenager, but I was grateful to find worthy guardians when the agreement and

conditions changed. This took a long healing process for things to get better, but as the family grew

more and more educated our views changed. I believe my first wife who stayed in school became

valedictorian, and attended Harvard.

Clearly I was in conflict with living even a gay life style that I was comfortable with, when

deeply emotional attributes required open communication. I was only hurt when trying to compete,

and found I had no real calling to be a celebrity. I met up with my sister again at the age of fifteen, who

had chosen the right path for herself, as we were both at a disadvantage mainly by the movements of

our peer groups, and peer pressures. She went to an art school, developed literary skills in English and

went on to become a certified Physical Therapist. I had tried to do too much too soon, and while I could

understand hypothetical logic and reasoning, I still felt different. With my sister, I had sweet dreams

filled with sodomy, with most of the male friends we had friendships with, I became fearful that my

coming out was going to mean our getting married, which we were, and were not, but lived out a

legacy of performing miracles for each other, on each others behalf.

Only as Ballerina did I first grow comfortable with making love to, and having other

boyfriends, and literally this only happened a few times. My heart opened to others who were not

fearful or competitive about the amount or quality of experience. It seems apart from my affair with my

sister I never really cheated on my first wife, who spent time with me as we cast spells of romance

9.

sharing a bedroom of feminine and gay pride. From this experience I would favor experiencing sex

with a stronger woman, but that was also being closed minded as it was important to me to be faithful

to the women I was with, even if it meant surviving my sexual affairs with other men. Somehow this

lead others to believe I was loyal. I also felt more at ease with a masculine pride, that proved to be the

greatest digression from homophobia, when enjoying homosexual attachments.

Shortly after failing out of High School I was becoming disabled. I felt confused about

appropriate aggression, and being locked up. I was more confused about being locked up for my own

protection from suicidal tendencies. My last great achievement was in gymnastics in the US Games,

but slowly I had to bury this feeling in shame, and kept out of view except in matters where practice

held promise, and interesting accomplishments were earned from a retiree who was out of the spotlight.

My first real boyfriend, outside of the playroom, was with a genuine and sincere peer, who was

also tall, dark and handsome. We had shared a mutual girlfriend though at different times, while seeing

that she had a toxic effect on us. She thought our love should be as a suicide note, yet our experience

together was completely compatible. My first boyfriend placed me under house arrest for going back

into the closet, and wishing my life were hetero. He also proved he could out tough the revenge I

sought on the bullies that mocked me. My love for him felt in all words of decency was one that was

normal. Meaning I felt the attraction was sustainable of positive experiences.

He believed that I truly did reach my potential in Dance and Gymnastics, while he could see the

trouble I was having in school had much to do with the identity I was developing. We were teenagers

and already began to suffer from family crisis. Mine was more of an incestuous obsessive crisis that

created hysteria in needing a partner. My own identity believed myself to have a womanly quality. My

boyfriend shared my developing interest in the Buddha and in Krishna, yet I feel he might have

discovered what I did, which was that many times their disciplines were induced, or in my history were

subject to spells and even witch craft that made normal self expression a conflict. I believed in his

10.

words that I should listen to talks of cause and effect, and how a non action is followed by an action.

While he was never really an open lover, I don't feel his torment of me was for any other reason than I

was threatened by my own self affliction, as a lover I believe he was protecting me with the discipline

of having to reach adulthood.

Our mutual allergy to alcohol, had something to do with a psychological disposition, and not

really believing in the heresy or legends of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. We shared the advantage of

being able to defend our status, but the disadvantage of needing to be a big shot while at this very act.

Our mutual lover had written us both off, as what proved to be her own suicide, one would say the act

was committed, by the senseless mind games she played on others, and not being prepared enough to

be the center of attention at which she placed herself.

I remember how his body quivered when I swallowed him during oral sex. That is what felt so

normal, almost absent of trials and tribulations, except for being found out and sent into therapy. I

believe we did share an allergy to drugs and alcohol as we placed our intelligences in high esteem, and

our sensitivity to establishing a relationship between us in high regard. With me he was aggressive, but

again I felt it was to protect me from hurting myself.

Later on in life I met up with him as the Hells Angels I needed to stay clear from, but I knew he

was still looking from a hopeless release from the obsession of mind and body. After I confided him

that I knew that abuse took another form that was different from our own infatuation, I commented that

this may be the trouble he was getting into, being a hell's angel didn't seem to be important to him

anymore. I think he was pushing himself to the limits, as he confessed if he didn't stop playing with

trouble, he was going to wind up hopeless, and on the streets like everyone else.

His philosophy was that one may have to suffer from an experience with death to really deal

with the pain they are suffering from. Together I believe in our innocence we had the misfortune

of watching our close friends waste their own lives. Through out it all, what was most cunning and

11.

baffling was how our egos could be so much alike. I think under more mature circumstances I would

take pride in his confessions that he did what he had to do in order to survive, in the same way I did, for

protection from evils such as vanity, and living too close to the edge.

I believe we make an interesting story, of needing to conquer each others misplaced emotions of

the opposite sex. First his victory, than apparently mine later on. I also believe the peer pressure we

received from others was also an attack made from jealousy, and sheer expression of how fearful they

would be if ever going through with it. We each had our virginity's and homosexuality to deal with after

adolescence, which again I can safely say we each at least survived. As the experience comes to a

close, what I find most interesting is our own admission of needing to stay clear from drugs and

alcohol, as the lesson we learned in survival, that could prevent both of us from ever having to hurt

ourselves, by playing the victim, and playing the big shot.

In seeing this as a study of psychological traits, I ask the question, is it possible to survive being

Narcissistic? Is self reflection so inundating that being Narcissistic will certainly lead to suicide. I am

sure there are many who have felt their potential for actual love relationships to be the most profound.

That in understanding their own experiences and the unfortunate unrequited experiences that went

along with it, it is possible to release ones self from the merciless obsession that would have us believe

that our sexuality is one of divine nature. Is it possible that our interest in self gratification come from a

deeply open wound that must be penetrated for a final restitution to be accomplished. Can we go on

believing that we are chosen to be the epitome of everyone's sexual desire and fantasy, while the

circumstances and situations of this tie was actually prevent this from occurring, due to the potential for

danger and the psychological implications, that one could live in the image of the other.

Then what of this self reflection. Is it safe to say that understanding our moods is a healthy

challenge. How does one open up to this loneliness of regret, and perhaps this combustion of

experiencing a great deal of mixed emotions. Are these the things that will satisfy our own

12.

precariousness, or is our sexuality more of a firm statement of belief that an experience will lead to

pleasure. When we wallow in self pity and regrets what are the ties that form a bridge back to life?

Can we accept when an answer comes back no that presumably that is final. Is there anyone who is

truly Gods gift to mankind serving each of our pleasure for the sake of preserving their own beauty.

Self reflection than rather than being the final statement of fulfilling each of our sexual dreams, may be

the ability in understanding that we were improperly motivated in tempting the desire of a personality

type that appears to be shallow. That the conflict must be observed in our own inner psyche when a

mood swing informs us of our own disposition to gratification and rejection.

We must accept both our highs and lows. Sexual satisfaction is not the only measure of our self

worth. We must accept that when we are struggling with is a conflict that may be preoccupying our

thoughts. That when we are coaxed into believing that sexuality is a possibility that this is a realistic

proposition, that two people can care for one another in a way in which their sincerity opens the doors

to new avenues of self expression. So it is that the highs and the lows must be observed as our way of

living in reality, is this measure that we can realistically look at to see the hole that is open in our

wounds, and hope that one day we may be blessed to fill this emptiness with appropriate care and

affection.

What then of the Narcissist? Can we say he must understand objectively what he is the subject

of and what he is being subjected to. Can we say that his thoughtless affirmation of his chosen grace

put him at the disadvantage of not seeing the turmoil in his own life. To survive this blind side of love