Grunge and androgyny were reasonably widespread, even in the sticks of Maine. But I hated using the women’s room and not just because of being a boy. I hated it because of what was said to me: G et out! Was the nicest version. Other variations included dyke, queer, butch, bitch, creep, once (oddly) faggot and other, unprintable, words. It would only be weird if you used the urinal.' So I said to my friends, 'Do you mind if I use the men’s room with you? Or would that be weird?'Īnd my best friend Bryan said, 'Of course not. In subsequent years, I would think about that - using the urinal. Devices were sold, tricks bandied about in trans groups I went to. The plastic lid to a coffee can (clear plastic is best), trimmed of its edges, could be stowed in the back pocket, lifted out in one’s palm, curled into a funnel and used with care at a urinal. So long as you peed slowly and no one peeked. I got more than one pair of jeans thoroughly piss-soaked. Lately, the news has me thinking back to that first men’s room, 21 years ago, and what drove me to go inside. I never would have entered if I thought I would have been detected, confronted, kicked out. In fact, I’ll tell you what stands out to me even more than that first men’s room: It's the last time I went into a women’s room. #Gay twink blowjob school bathroom movie#.
