The fine art of outing

So, a funny thing happened to me at PantheaCon.I went to a lot of classes (I'm actually planning in the next few weeks to continue to decompress my thoughts from my black book of notes here), and this one delightful bear kept appearing at each. In the Orion Foxwood class we ended up collaborating to distribute water without talking about it. In another class he asked if he knew me and I said perhaps we met at the GLBT mixer the year before. In another we sat seats away from each other and just smiled. In another we rolled our eyes at the same time. It was hilarious.So, its the next to lass class of the night, and we've both shared a braincell again and gone up to ask T. Thorn Coyle about getting the transcript to her Rose Prayer that had touched both of us deeply. She looks at both of us and realizes something to the effect of "you guys aren't happy to wait for my next book are you." No, no we weren't. Afterwards we laughed and hang out talking, and the room has mostly cleared out. He tries again to place where he knows me from. Have I written anything in the pagan community. Well yes I say, but not under this name. What name? I say my old name to him, and this puzzled look crosses his face. I get ready for the rejection. Really? Huh, no, I had no idea. He laughs and wonders why I'm the second trans guy he's ended up cruising in less than a year. We laugh, decide to skip the last class slot (men with men magic) and decide to go up to the GLBT mixer instead to talk about it one on one.While on the couch, thigh to thigh, discussing magic and sexuality, pouring out our brains for one another between fruity drinks, someone I have known for a while in the pagan community walks up."Wow, Lee, I barely recognized you! Your gender transition is going great!!!" (loudly)1/3 of the heads in the room turn. Most of whom had NO idea I was trans.The rational part of my brain wants to set him right, say that its not cool to out folks in front of mixed rooms, hell, out them at all. What if the guy I was cruising still hadn't known? Who gave him the right to do it? Ever?Instead I freeze and say its nice to see you too, lovely shirt, we can talk more about that woo woo project later. Thanks for saying my shoulders look good, no I don't want to talk details of my magical side of how the project we previously discussed. I just try to get him to go away.He finally does. The bear I've been with on and off all day, brain to brain, shakes his head and says something about the guy being a wanker, I know him? Yeah, he's kind of famous in certain circles actually, and fill in the blanks. He blinks and says yeah, famous, but still a wanker.We laugh, get back to our drinks and deep conversations.I personally feel that individuals have the right to out, or NOT, out themselves. It is not your job. It isn't. Its actually one of the reasons I decided not to join LaGarou, the transmasculine leather group. I'll teach for them, I'll be an affiliate member, I'll talk about them tons and support them however I can- but I have NO interest in having a big trans patch on the back of my leather vest. I want the right to choose to out myself.My work, and keeping my work from the past as part of my offerings, keeps me from ever truly being stealth. In fact, I had thought I would never even have that option given how flaming I can be, and how pretty parts of me just *are*, but at PantheaCon I was more butch than half the guys there. I was on the masculine side of the mens movement folks there. Glitter nailpolish means nothing next to the amazing spirits of the faerie and feri boys I hung out with. When there are Radical Faeries (or hell, drag queens) in the room, transmen are just other guys. I like it that way funny enough.I like just being one of the guys.I really took deep offense at this person outing me in the ways he did.I know rationally that he did not "mean any harm by it." I know him, we've talked about similar issues. My theory is that there was absinthe involved. But it still stung.So I'm gnawing on this thing now. This thing called outing. I have tales from so many friends, trans on both sides of the adventure, who have shared heartbreaking outing stories. Work tales. Dating tales. Love tales. Public tales. Tales of shame. Of having rights robbed from us.Some have very happy endings. Many do not. I'm just chewing on them a lot right now as I sit at my desk in a teeshirt and jeans, trying to figure out what gender box to check on my taxes. Legally I'm male by my passport, by my Social Security still says female, and will until April or May most likely. So I'm gnawing on all this stuff today, while listening to dumb music.