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Some very painful things happened over the last month that I am just not ready to blog about.

So, I will make a happy post!

To recap, there is a very nice man at church with whom I had engaged in conversation several times. He thought we had a connection. So did I.  One of us would say something and the other would reply with the perfect response. (See Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.) We found the same things funny or sad or beautiful.  Taking to him was so easy and comfortable. It felt right. He was intelligent and funny and not-bad looking, and he stuck me as a kindly, gentle soul who would never hurt me.

I have been hurt so many times in my life.

He thought I was sweet and gentle. I hope so. He also found me attractive, and he appreciated my femininity. (Hint to you guys out there: it isn’t unusual for the trans women at a social gathering to be the most feminine women in the room. We had to go through hell to get to be openly feminine, so we don’t hold back! If it’s femininity you are seeking, think about that.)

So one evening I got a call from him. He had gotten my number from a mutual friend.  He wanted to take me out dancing.

You have no idea how tempted I was to just go for it! Being led around a dance floor in a man’s arms while wearing a nice dress,  a lingering goodnight kiss, perhaps another date the next weekend, or perhaps we stay in, and I fix dinner, and we snuggle on the couch and watch a movie . . . sigh.

Living a little of the life I should have lived, but couldn’t.

But I didn’t want to hurt him if his feelings deepened, and then he found out I’m trans and I hadn’t told him. I didn’t want to embarrass this sweet man if–when–my past got revealed somehow.

I have hurt so many good people because I wasn’t honest about who I am. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.

So I outed myself.

He was upset, not angry, still polite, but clearly thrown off balance. The call ended, courteously, about two minutes later.

Today I ran into him again at church. We talked for about 20 minutes. He had only the sketchiest knowledge of transgender women, so he asked a lot of questions. Good ones. He was courteous and friendly and curious.

I don’t think that cisgender people can grasp gender dysphoria, but it impressed me that he was making an effort.

He said he likes my personality, my sweetness and gentleness and sensitivity and wants to be my friend.

A real friend is almost as good as a lover.

Isn’t he?

Then he chuckled. “You can see why I was so attracted to you. You are so very pretty!”

Sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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