That was the age I was when I started transition good and proper. And the way you found out was as unfair to you as it was to me. “Let’s talk about the transsexual thing,” his voice rang out, full of confidence. He was completely unaware of what had just happened. He had exposed me. Shared my innermost thoughts, my greatest secret; how the hell did this man know this about me?? I had never met him before that fateful moment.
Now, that my deepest, darkest, secret was out of the bag, I was left weeping silently, she sitting there stunned, me understanding that her mind was racing, thoughts colliding, coming to conclusions from things I had done in the past, everything congealing, and beginning to make sense.. I could see the disgust cross her face,, as she tried to stay blank. It didn’t work, and I knew in that instance, that our relationship was probably over.
Fast forward, tape moving fast, events playing out in 3x the speed. We head to the pub down the street, have a few drinks, and after 3 years, she says she has agreed to stay in the relationship. The thing is…I have sewn the seeds of the beginning of a new relationship. A relationship with someone like me - trans. A trans woman, to be specific. It didn’t start as anything but friendly banter in one of our online groups, but both of us could tell, night by night, confession by confession, that there was something between she and I. Yes, she is trans. Yes, she is a woman. Yes, she is a lesbian. And we have such strong feelings, feelings that bleed onto pages in the form of poetry, prose, short stories, whatever. We talk about our fears, and our strengths. We talk about the unknown traumas - unknown to even those closest to us - words just come tumbling out., extasy in overdrive.
I am falling for her, and she for me. Now, here is the complication. I, actually thought,, during that 3 years of contemplation by my dw, that she was going to leave me, jut like all but one of my friends. And I was spilling my tears, my sadness into this other person.
And here you are, sweet, lovely interment friend. Only 2 hours away by train. “What if, what if one day, I come your way,” I ask tentatively, unsure of the words coming out of my mouth, then rushing with such force, such undeniability. Then, you said no. And I deflated, but you quickly retracted that no. You, as always, open and honest, asked if my coming up there could mean anything other than two internet friends wanting to meet irl. I thought about it, quickly adding and subtracting the positives and negatives, the maybes and maybe nots.
I knew though, though that I needed to be near you, in whatever capacity that may be. We talked it through, decided on a day. I bought a train ticket, and immediately started to get anxious. What am I doing. I am still married. I have a partner who, regardless of what she said, after 3 years of contemplation, had decided to stay with me, and fight along with me for my right to exist. Was I willing to throw that away for a spark, a corked and bottled jar of lightning? An understanding that could possibly only take place between trans people.?
When it was time for the train to leave, I was on it, with more questions than answers. I knew, however, that by going up there to see my sapphic trans “friend”, I was going to altar the destiny of all our relationships…
to be continued - possibly
