Ma belle V is having problems adjusting to my… special friend. In case you don’t slavishly read my every textual utterance (and why aren’t you? I’m fucking interesting!), let me give a quick recap. When I moved from DC to a tiny town in Florida a small group of church ladies took me under their wing. I had no friends. I moved in cold. They were sweet, asked me to dinner and birthdays and other events. It kept me social, which I’m not. But I appreciated them and always have a good time with great food. (They are mostly Filipinas… cooking machines!)
Things went swimmingly for years when out of the blue one of them, V, asked if I would be interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. Well, yes and no. Yes, who doesn’t want a romantic relationship? I yearn so for companionship, love, all the usual stuff to be in my life. No, I had no idea she was (1) interested and (2) lesbian. And as it turned out, she had no idea I was a transwoman.
Our first physical encounter was interesting, to say the least. She batted that thing like it was a playtoy. And I guess in some ways it was although, thanks to my HRT, not too reliable. Haha. But she is, indeed, a lesbian and thus having a hard time reconciling her feelings toward men and my own vestigial equipment. (Oh god, I’ve never gotten to use that word before… vestigial. I love it!) No matter how many times and in various ways explained that I am, indeed a woman, despite my deformity, she just can’t grasp it.
While it is still ongoing she’s seeing me less and less and I have a feeling it will eventually die out. The arc of the relationship is going in the wrong direction. We’ve never lived together, only dated and horsed around. We’ll see. I’ve been alone for a long time. I can go the rest of my life alone. But don’t you think that life is so much more fun when you have someone to share it with, to hold when looking at a beautiful sunset, to marvel at a painting, a song? <sigh>