When my body began puberty in the early 1970s, I had already been taught the basic intricacies of the differences between women and men through sixth-grade biology lessons. In Bravo, I learned details of interpersonal physical relationships from Dr. Sommer. Surprisingly, every now and then I find myself smooching and exploring new territory with curious hands in the arms of a girl. That's exciting.
But I'm faced with a mystery I'd rather not know anything about: my body feels different from the inside than it looks from the outside. Where the so-called penis hangs out of me, I feel exactly an entrance. A pussy. I've tried umpteen times, when my body unmistakably demands touch, to imagine fucking with a girl. Labour of love in vain. My body longs to receive. To take something in. A tail? From a boy? Even though it is pleasurable when I touch my butt, I feel that this is only an alternative, but cannot be a substitute for the vagina that I feel so real. Am I crazy? And if it does, maybe it doesn't matter as long as no one knows. But I know. Am I a miscarriage? Babies are born with three arms and two heads, maybe I'm such a misconstruction.
Woman on the inside, man on the outside. The sex education lessons at the end of the 10th grade in 1977 do not shed any light on the darkness either. In our great sex education encyclopedia there is only a short note about transvestites: People who like to wear clothes of the opposite sex, for fun or to increase pleasure. Simulated role reversal. But my emotional dilemma is not a game. I can't count how many times I've wished and begged God to please be a woman in a woman's body, or if I have to, a man in my innate physical shell. I stop asking myself the question of 'why'. Doesn't make sense anyway. In 1978, a diva of a special kind enters the stage of Fernseh-Deutschland: AMANDA LEAR. Dressed in skin-tight leather overalls, she sings whip-wielding 'Sweet revenge'.
I think the music is quite grotto, but whisper-whisper, according to my father: "In the BZ it says that Amanda Lear was once a man!" So I guess I'm not alone. And yet I am infinitely alone. For the diva, the laws of Hollywood apply: those of wealth. But I'm a kid from Berlin's Neu-Tempelhof and light years away from the possibilities of Hollywood's dream factory. The world of Amanda Lear is as real to me as 'Starship Enterprise'.
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