Dedicated to the acceptance, medical treatment, & legal protection of individuals in the process of correcting the misalignment of their anatomical sex, & supporting their transition into society.
Scottsdale, AZ, USA. The desert turned out to be just as anyone may expect. The sun is hot and unforgiving, what life there is hides in the nooks and crannies of the broken rock that lies at the base of the mountains. Shade is sparse, water more so, the heat is everything unless you get out of the kitchen but the kitchen is where the action is and if we leave it to the hungry rodents and post-atomic roaches all they serve up is dirt dry rotting cheese and ancient slices of dreary blue mold.
A cross-dresser who has blown all his options can’t afford the luxury of changing his ways. He has what he has and that is all that he has, and he can’t afford to admit to either himself or his wife, and certainly not to the security guard in the shopping mall, no matter how often he is asked, no matter who is asking, that every day his life takes him further down the rabbit hole into a world where very few rabbits ever change into eagles or even Black Labradors.
Rabbits don’t make laws or change basic structures, most are happy simply being rabbits although they would like a few changes to the rest stop protocols and the prevalence of drunken adolescent males striving to impress their girlfriends or, failing that, a few regulations limiting the length of open hunting season. There is not much mental distance
between the paranoid belief you are getting a raw deal and outraging the public decency
with demands for free license to do whatever your hidden, fetish driven id desires.
Springfield, VA, USA. Society (the women and men around us) has always been more comfortable if its members fall within certain known, established patterns: this is how we dress, this is what we say, this is w...
Springfield, VA, USA. On the last day of the court's term in the year twenty-oh-eight, the Supreme Court of the United States held that the Second Amendment [to the Constitution of the United States] protects ...
Springfield, VA, USA. Early in fetal development, before even a glimmer of genitalia, the central nervous system acquires its basic structure.
It is here, deep within the most complex structure ...
Springfield, VA, USA. Jesus wrote us the other day. At least I think it was Jesus (he works for the Family Research Council, doesn’t he?). [N1] He seems to have visited us quite frequently in the last few...
The side of the desert highway is littered with discarded bras and panties, five inch high patent heels, and firm, well boned corsets that hold the breath so tightly you might expect never to speak again, certainly not to your congressman or your state representative, certainly not to your pastor, the one who tells you it is a sin, certainly not to the patrolman who is asking for your driver’s license and vehicle registration.
Transgenders, who never really believed they were the wave of the future anyway, preferring to hide behind the post-ops and college-age gender fuckers rebelling against their parents in their first moments of freedom away from home, saw the defeat of gender identity in the Employment Non-Discrimination Act as brutal confirmation of the futility of fighting the establishment on its own terms.
The truth is never told during the nine to five hours and certainly not on the weekend when everyone is dressing in their pretties. In a movement run by male transgenders, all transgenders are upwardly mobile and HBS men and women – the ones who all this is ostensibly about – are fucked, shoved into the desert fringe behind the Joshua Trees by the men in dresses desperate to avoid any and all comparisons to the medical condition formerly known as transsexuality.
What can you say about a movement that teaches gender is fluid and the sexual binary non-existent while they sit out of the desert sun in their air conditioned rooms, turning scientific research into puddles of black poison in front of your eyes as they watched TV, relentlessly masturbating in the corner while they wait nervously for the knock on the door that means their mother or their wife or maybe their boss from the job they really don’t want will soon be asking what they have been doing with their time, all those hours alone with only the computer to light the room.
Scottsdale is filled with ancient men and women who have flown in from snow country to admire the empty, open reaches of the winter desert. Post-op HBS, fresh from the surgeon, limp past the shiny motorcycles lined up along the hot, shimmering sidewalks as they work their slow way to lunch in Old Town by the Arts Center. This close to the knife, there are no transgenders, no cross-dressers, no transvestites, no weekend women who disappear come Monday morning, no asexual messianic leaders who emerge after forty days in the desert to expound profound political philosophies intending to change the way the world really works. Scottsdale is all too real for that.
It’s a strange world. If there is, in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a self-congratulatory version of a World Professional Association for Transgender Health convention in Chicago where male cross-dressers and transgenders spend their days telling each other how good they look in their WALMART finery while new age doctors hawk the latest natural hot new thing in the side rooms. Everyone will seem vaguely happy – the convention hall is well lit and the speakers’ bromides make everything and everyone seem well and good – except that in their hearts, they know something is not quite right and whatever it is – perhaps the post-ops – is driving them quietly into a kind of terminal craziness that comes from understanding that the one thing you want is not there, will probably never be there because it is backordered to some factory in China where they substitute pesticides for protein in dog food.
It is all well and good for transgenders to believe in Santa Claus, but it is profoundly unsettling that of any twenty transgenders working the street – the chicks with dicks, the she-males, the sex and gender are societal constructs young party girls – nineteen of them will be dead within five years but the weekend women will still be safely in their basements exchanging messages with the academics on gender theory, the problems of the working class, and the need to pass a federal law giving them bathroom privileges at the mall.
No more games. No more holiday balls. No more walking hand in hand through the corridors of congress as stalking horses for middle class transgendered women who demand their rights as both men and women and then disappear when the talk turns to health insurance, birth certificates, and need to publicly distinguish between those of us born with HBS and the cross-dressers, between actual physical sex and public presentations of gender, between those of us who are only women and those who remain always otherwise except on weekends.
Ms. Lisa Jain Thompson is the Co-Founder & President of TS-Si, Inc. She also serves as a Contributing Editor and columnist for the TS-Si website. Ms. Thompson's signed articles contain her own opinions and do not necessarily convey an official position of TS-Si, its partners, or affiliates.
Lisa welcomes your comments. You can use the public form below or send private correspondence via her TS-Si Contact Page. We will not divulge any personal details or place you on a mailing list without your permission.
Richard Smith, Editor-in-Chief, introduces Cases Journal. Dr. Smith urges all physicians to submit their case reports to the new open access Cases Journal, which publishes case reports from any area of healthcare.
Cases Journal will publish any case report that is understandable, ethical, authentic, and includes all essential information. A more selective companion, the Journal of Medical Case Reports, publishes original and interesting case reports that contribute significantly to medical knowledge. Article submissions are subject to potential publication by either journal. All reports will be entered in a common and open access database.
Scottsdale is filled with ancient men and women who have flown in from snow country to admire the empty, open reaches of the winter desert. Post-op HBS, fresh from the surgeon, limp past the shiny motorcycles lined up along the hot, shimmering sidewalks as they work their slow way to lunch in Old Town by the Arts Center. This close to the knife, there are no transgenders, no cross-dressers, no transvestites, no weekend women who disappear come Monday morning, no asexual messianic leaders who emerge after forty days in the desert to expound profound political philosophies intending to change the way the world really works. Scottsdale is all too real for that. 
Ms. Lisa Jain Thompson
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