J. Michael Bailey is the author of the much-heralded The Man Who Would Be Queen as well as one of the authors of a groundbreaking study on bisexuality released last year.
1. So, Prof. Bailey, what amazing things have you discovered about tomboys? Have you worked out that we’re more likely to beat you up in the bathroom if you say stupid shit about us, like you do about everyone else you study?
Thank you, Helen. I’m glad you asked that question. In fact, the title of my next book is “Tomboys: The Girls Who, if They Existed, Would Be Dykes”. It is a nonscientific scientific popular nonscience book, so it is pretty easy to digest. I’m proud to say that much of the work that went into writing the book was conducting in and around the campus. We’re engaged in exciting, cutting edge research here at Northwestern, and, assuming that human subjects rules apply, or even if they don’t, we are doing it safely. I think. Yes, there has been some controversy stirred up by a few hysterical ‘tomboy activists’, or, as I like to call them, ‘dykes’, but when you are on the cutting edge of scientific nonscience popular science, you learn to take these, um, blows.
Mostly, these dykivists have taken issue with the last third of my book, which deals with the simple fact that tomboys do not exist. Oh, they think they do. Their parents may even think they do. But I can quote many esteemed references I’ve never actually read to bolster the point that people often are deluded and lying when they speak to me. I mean, it just isn’t possible that so many people dislike me or disagree with my work. It has to be delusion. Has to.
But, in answer to your question: yes. If tomboys exist, then, yes, please don’t hit me.
2. From your “research” methods in The Man Who Would Be Queen, you seem to hang out in gay/trans bars a lot. I do too, so I understand. But I hang out in them because I love trannies, while you seem to have more of a love/hate relationship with transwomen. What gives?
Any reasonable person will conclude that I am very sympathetic to the plight of gender nonconforming boys. Very sympathetic. Very, very VERY sympathetic. Any reasonably observant person who happened to be at my favorite bar, Chick or Meat, will conclude that I absolutely love young, hot, feminine trannies.
As far as love and hate, well, yes, it is only natural. I love my time with the hot ones. When I come home, however, I have to spend a few hours in my Punishment Closet. Longer if I had to settle for one of the uglier ones.
As I have written in my lovingly crafted book, there are two kinds of transsexuals: the Faggos and the Uggos. So you have the “Homosexual Transsexuals” (Faggos), and, let me tell you, they are all pretty hot. These guys tend to transition early, date macho, straight guys like me, and make money as strippers. Then you have the “Autogynephilic Transsexuals” (Uggos) who transition later, are pretty homely, and if they can get a date, it is usually with themselves. Usually these guys can only find work as low grade prostitutes (ones who charge about $25 for a handjob, which really sucks because they won’t break a $50 or cash an NSF check).I wouldn’t date one of those men. Unless I was really hard up.
Or I couldn’t find a Faggo.
I love the Faggos. I’ve even loved an Uggo or two in my time, though human subjects and several pending law suits mean I can’t mention their names. I am not gay, though, just so you understand. I’m married, and everything.
3. Do you think bisexual men are really gay and bisexual women are really bisexual because that satisfies your fantasy of watching two women together? Or it because all of your research is really a life-long struggle to convince yourself that your interest in chicks with dicks means you’re still really het?
Yes.
4. So what makes your plethsmograph really bump up?
I am so glad you asked me that, Helen. As a matter of fact, Everything gets my Penile Plethsmograph stiff. How do I know this? I’m not just a researcher, not just a dedicated scientist in search of the truth, not just an advocate and humanitarian who deeply cares about the plight of transsexual faggots. As someone once said, I can’t ask the troops to do something I wouldn’t do myself. And while that isn’t completely true, I do find that I prefer wearing a PP. All the time. Sure, it can be an inconvenience; for one thing, not a few people have asked me what the wires sticking out of my belt were for, and I’ve had to switch to wearing sweats most of the time. The side benefit is that the PP does really make it look like I’m packing some major Academic Rolls, if you know what I mean.
Let’s try a test. I have in my desk a selection of photographs. I’ll view them one at a time and give you the PP feedback. Here we go.
First up: A picture of Seigfried and Roy. With a soft, furry tiger. Oh, look, it’s a boy tiger. A big boy tiger. PP reading: “Tingly”.
Next: The Eiffel Tower. Long, tall, hard, erect, with a bulbous end. Years to build, by hundreds of sweaty Frenchmen in the hot Parisan sun. PP reading: “Ooo, la la!”
Next: Captain Kangaroo. Moustache. Side Burns. Deep, deep, deep pockets. Sailor. PP reading: “Ping Pong Balls!”
Next: A place of Nachos. PP reading: “Call Doctor if Erection lasts longer than 4 hours.”
Next: Tula.
Right, Helen, I’m going to have to get back to you. I need to, ah, recalibrate and rewire the PP. Yes, recalibrate. And change my pants.
J. Michael Bailey at Homecoming, date unknown.
5. I know you think you can tell a gay man by the sound of his voice, but did you know most gay men can tell you really like sucking cock if you suck cock all the time?
This has been a real source of frustration for me, Helen. When some in the Stanford audience giggled at some of the demonstrations in my talk (e.g., my playing the voices of gay and straight people), this was all in good humor. I can’t understand the fuss. It reminds me of when I was an undergraduate, and I demonstrated how you could tell the difference between real black men and white men in black face (in that groundbreaking study, white men with black face did not want watermelon). It was all in good fun. At least, it seemed funny to me, and that’s all that matters, in the end.
There is a difference, I would suggest, between cocksucking for pleasure and cocksucking For Science. I would not engage in the former. I admit that, in my nonscientific pseudoscientific science studies, I needed to sample–I’m sorry–collect information about the oral sex habits in the gay community. As senior researcher, it was encumbant upon me to collect this data first hand if possible. It was a great sacrifice, especially once my wife found out about it.
So, yes, I have sucked my share of cock. But you have to understand that I was not so much sucking cock as placing some strange man’s penis in my mouth, then stimulating this wonderful reproductive organ until ejaculation. There is a difference, and it does not mean I am gay. I swear, the hundreds of blowjobs I have given have meant nothing to me. Not a thing.
Except that one time in Bermuda. Oh, wait, that wasn’t for research. Can that be off the record?
(Happy April Fools, everyone! Thanks to Mad Megan Bailey for standing in for Mike.)
