It was 1974-ten years ago-and I knew I was not happy with my masculinity. Also, I knew there were not men around me with whom I could discuss what was happening inside of me. And all the feminists were telling me to get with it. They told me to read all the feminist literature I could get my hands on, attend all the feminist meetings-except, of course, the ones where men were not allowed, and acknowledge my role as an oppressor so I could help the world become a better place for women.



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