Start the day here.
No sooner had the guy left, then a vaguely Latin man gave me a big smile and waved me onto the floor.
“Come dance with me!?” He requested genially.
“Okay.” I replied, drawn to his positivity despite myself. “As long as you know that I’m a lesbian.” I did not feel like getting hit on by anyone else–especially a man that night!
“Oh that’s okay–I’m FTM.”
I commenced to dancing with him–wondering if it was, indeed, okay because he was FTM.–I mean, of course for dancing it was okay if he was an FTM, I would have danced with him as a straight man too–It’s just, for anything beyond that–I’m not sure. How far can a woman go into masculinity before she becomes a man? And isn’t that the whole idea? Why do FTMs pursue lesbians? How “should” I feel about it? Was I attracted to him? I wondered.
“Don’t mind this.” he said, gesturing to the neat ring of facial hair around his mouth. “Two years ago I was named Hannah.”
I tried to assimilate this information as I followed him on the dance floor. It was really hard for me to see him as female when everything about him screamed “male.” I can’t imagine what it must be like to spend so much energy convincing the world that you’re male–only to have to turn around and convince the females you’re interested in that you’re still, somehow, inherently female.
“It’s my birthday!” He informed me with a smile.
“Yours too?” I responded ungraciously. I was having trouble believing anything anyone said that night.
Finally, as I matched him beat for beat, I realized that I believed him about being FTM. He still smelled like a woman–like a woman, and yes, like my favorite complementary odor, cocoa butter!
Did it matter? I wasn’t sure, but I relaxed into the dance. He was a good dancer with an engaging smile.
He thanked me politely when the song ended, but didn’t try to engage me further or try to get my number. I felt a little disappointed, although I guess I was less than encouraging.
It was time to go home anyways, I had a long drive ahead.
Leave a comment
No comments yet.