I went something like a month without any dating apps on my phone. It was a relief to not spend my free time swiping through potential candidates for The Dating Game. My friend, Lindsey –the premier bachelorette in Lafayette, LA– downloaded a dating app in February and I downloaded the same one. I also downloaded Her, the app where all of DFW’s queer hotties are hiding from sausages.
BUT, I didn’t swipe. The way I had approached dating in 2020 didn’t work. I wasn’t going to go down the road of aggressive swiping and smartass opening lines again. I wanted a woman that would own being attracted to me. I wanted a woman that would have the courage to make the first move… even if that just was moving her thumb first.
My phone occasionally went off with alerts that someone’s thumb had moved. I would go to their profile and… groan. Why would I want to date a woman 20 years younger than me?! Why would I want to date a woman who lives 200 miles away?! Why would my monogamous ass want to date a woman who is polyamorous?! Why would I want to date a woman with a dog filter as her profile pic?! So, I stayed single through getting Covid and grew comfortable with being alone in the process. I had internalized the truth that a woman couldn’t make me happier. She could enrich my life but I didn’t need a woman any more. My codependent ass had grown.
At almost the exact same time that my big girl panties fit better, I got a notification that a woman I had gone on a video chat date with had swiped right on me again. We had done the video chat date about half a year before and it was obvious Anne was not over her previous relationship yet. That was really the only reason I had not gone on a second date with her. Anne was kind, normal, and didn’t care what was between my legs. This lady was also a persistent one… this was the third time she had swiped right on me throughout various dating apps.
I was sick of running to my Plano Squad with dating issues. They had supported me through every bitch in 2020 and they needed a respite. So, I reached out to The Fakery Bitches in Lafayette (our current group thread is named A Fuckloaf of Bacon but the name changes so much that I just stick with the original name of our group thread when I talk about them.) After giving m’girls way too many details and hemming and hawing, they unanimously told me to shut the fuck up, swipe right, and see what happened with Anne.
The first thing Anne said was that I was right. She hadn’t been ready to date. I just cut through the shit and asked her when we could go on a date. She came over that weekend and we made out and squeezed each other’s boobies. She refused to do more since I’d felt used by women in the past. We’re sluts with hearts of gold, apparently.
We had a second date at a park, which went well with the exception of the ducks violently fucking. I mean, whoa. Someone needs to teach them about consent. It was traumatic and I’m still considering seeing a therapist to talk about it.
Then there was date number three. And four. And five. Somewhere in there Anne asked me to be her girlfriend. Of course I said yes… she’s amazing. She tells me I’m pretty all the time. And she gave me an amazing line drawing that she said reminded her of me. And she stares through me with those amazing eyes of hers. And she does this super cute thing with her nose where she brushes it against mine like a cat. And she’s a fellow Type A person with goals and lists and shit. And she holds my hand in public.
Sex alert: Mom/Dad/Kids/Prudes, this is where you might want to stop reading.
I asked one of my fellow transwomen if penetration was painful for her and she emphatically said yes. I thought it was something that was weird about me. It hasn’t been as enjoyable for me since transitioning. My “lil smoky” (estrogen causes things to shrink, that’s why I gave my sausage that nickname) just doesn’t get as hard as it used to. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
None of the other contestants in The Dating Game have cared. They’ve been selfish in bed and/or I’ve not spoken up. I’ve just powered through the discomfort. I finally mustered up the courage to tell Anne about the pain. A couple of days later she sent me a picture of a book she bought so that she could learn more about how to make things enjoyable for both of us. I almost started crying. It’s a small gesture for her but it’s giant for me. It shows me that she really cares and is willing to change and adapt to/for me. I still get emotional thinking about it.
I’m not sure how to end this blog post. I could gush about Anne for longer but you get the point. I’m still content on the days I don’t see her. I don’t panic and worry that she’s getting sick of my shit. Everything feels healthy and not forced and like a good fit.
That’s what she said.