I do wonder how much of this is the result of being male. When I was in training for the Peace Corps, there were a few women in my group who became such close friends, they would often be seen standing in each other's arms. They were not lesbians; it was simply the way they expressed themselves. It was beautiful. But I have never met a male who could do that without thinking there was something homoerotic about it, and reacting accordingly -- either pulling away (if he is straight) or wondering where it will lead (if he is gay). I find that I understand very little of male culture; it seems all image and no substance, as if maleness was revocable and we need to demonstrate it moment by moment, no matter who we really are.
I do not think I am transgender; in any case, no one has ever been able to explain to me what it means to "feel like a woman," or to "feel like a man." Mostly, I feel like gender just gets in the way. Even if I detach myself from male culture, the mere fact that I look male means that people make certain assumptions about me, and treat me in certain ways. Since male culture glorifies sexuality, then any effort I make to seek physical contact will be ASSUMED to be a sexual overture. I begin to feel the same revulsion toward male culture as those women who turned feminist after being abused and harassed. If I was offered the chance to become truly genderless, I would take it, yes, even if it cost me my genitals. I never have understood why men are so obsessed with the size of that part of their bodies anyway. Where a godly man might envision heaven as the chance to become, finally, a perfect man, and likewise a godly woman, as the chace to become a perfect woman, I find myself longing to become a perfect androgyne. This is a strange concept to people who think in strict dichotomies, who therefore assume androgyny is inherently imperfection.
Not all peoples are afraid of close contact. The Yanomami live in the Brazil-Venezuela borderlands. I cannot now remember whether I read this in Kenneth Good or Jacques Lizot, but one of them beautifully described the Yanomami family, father, mother, and children, sleeping together in a pile of bodies. These people traditionally do not wear clothes, so a sleeping pile of bodies is close contact indeed. My own family was never that close. Maybe most people are okay with that; but the Yanomami know something Western man has long forgotten.
This is not to idealize the Yanomami. Kenneth Good was horrified to see that young women could be raped with impunity, and Jacques Lizot observed the existence of pedophiles among them, who were tolerated. There are no innocent peoples in this world. But we must not throw out the good with the bad. For whatever their faults, the Yanomami understand the need for physical closeness. Besides the sleeping pile of Yanomami bodies, there are also the tender scenes of other Amazonian peoples: of the parent meticulously painting the body of the drowsing child, for example. The jungle is not always a place of savage danger; it can also be a place of profound love and affection.
I cannot and will not live under a permanent no-contact order. The human body was created (or evolved, if you prefer) to respond to physical contact, which biologically signifies social bonding -- not necessarily sexual. And hygiene is tied up in this. In those animal species most similar to us, the primates, grooming has simultaneously a social and an hygienic function. The ape being groomed no doubt experiences pleasure, but has sense enough to distinguish this from the sex drive. Has the average human being the same amount of sense?
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