I'm fifty two years old.
I'm a virgin.
For the second time.
Life is weird when you are trans.
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Being a virgin was bad enough the first time round, you'd think the second time would be a breeze wouldn't you? Here's me with a brand new vagina, custom made, tight and ready for action. Take me honey, I'm all yours. Oh yeah babe... Yeah... That's it... Right there... Oh my God... OH MY GOD!! Yesssssssssss...........
Yeah, I wish. It didn't work out like that, did it? As a guy I had a large potential dating pool, though I only dipped my toe in it. Hard to date when you despise your own body. As a trans woman with a penis I had novelty value. Finding someone who wanted to meet to fuck me was easy online, someone who was willing to risk being seen in public with me less so but still surprisingly common. Now, post op? I'm a tall plain looking woman with a pussy that needs artificial lubrication. What do I have to offer that you can't get better from a 'real' woman. Not a bloody thing.
Still, one must persevere. This virginity thing won't go away on it's own. I have a bright sparkling personality (honest I do, stop laughing at the back there, I can hear you). I sign up to Tinder, OkCupid and Plenty of Fish. I get loads of likes and a surprising number of matches too. Now, all is not rosy in the garden. Some of them can't read or don't bother to. I check they know I'm trans and they disappear. Some are romance scams. Some just want to ask damn fool questions like 'what size of tits did you choose?'. Pardon me Sir, I grew these puppies myself. Cheeky bugger. A lot never message or don't reply when I message first. But, hey, got to expect a good few assholes, am I right or am I right?
Despite all this I make some progress. I even have a date with one guy, which is kind of fun. At the end of a day of museums and art galleries we kiss at a bus stop like a couple of teenagers. Pardon me while I blush at the memory. He wants me to visit him at his home the following weekend, stay over, make love. Virginity problem solved you would think. But there is no chemistry, no spark, no feeling that he might be the one, so I call it off in as nice a way as possible.
Turns out losing my virginity again isn't just a case of finding someone willing to have me, I need it to be with the right person. Someone I like enough to give this once in a lifetime gift to, albeit for the second time. The odds against me rise sharply.
Then I match with her. The pictures on her profile are beautiful. Mesmerising. That smile. Those eyes. She lives a bit further away than I'd like, but who cares? This could be the one.
---
I usually wait for the other person to message first but I can't let this one slip away so easily. I write a message, consider it before pressing send, delete it, try again. The fourth attempt seems good, very casual, basically a 'hi' with a compliment about one of her profile pictures that isn't about her looks, can't come across as desperate or pervy (that can wait till we meet...). She replies!
I follow up with a joke, got to keep the conversation going. She laughs, says say's she's going out for a walk by the sea. I tell her to wrap up warm. I put the phone down with a smile on my face.
---
Her next message comes two days later, she's found someone else, she's leaving Tinder. I console myself with the thought that at least she let me know. I reply wishing her the best.
The next day she is back.
---
Things didn't work out as she had hoped. We're exchanging messages again. She's in Edinburgh tomorrow, she suggests we meet for a coffee but I'll be at work when she's through here. She says some other time then. I'm telling her she's beautiful. She puts up some more pictures, one really appeals to me. It's her, from behind, standing on a beach looking out over the sea. It moves me. I try to express how it makes me feel in a message to her. Things change. A trickle of messages a day turns into a flood, words pouring out of both of us. There's a definite connection now. She says we have to meet.
I send her a couple of short stories I wrote. This is a big step for me given the personal nature of the tales I write. I get a positive reaction. This is going so well. I think I'm falling in love.
But she's still in love with a trans man she used to know. She tells me she's going on a date with another man she met on Tinder. I wish it was me so bad it hurts, but I still genuinely hope it goes well for her. I search my feelings, trying to work out what's going on inside me. I realise that I'm not ever going to be good enough for her so if I can't make her happy then I want her to find the right person who can. Why do I have to be so fucking selfless?
---
Her date wasn't ideal. I feel a mixture of disappointment for her and hope for myself. I feel guilty for the hope, even though I know I don't have a chance I still hope I might have a chance. Hope is a terrible thing sometimes, ask Pandora.
She meets another man.
---
This date goes well. She enthuses about him. I enthuse back. We arrange to meet. She lets me know it's not a date. I appreciate the honesty and I'm not surprised, but it still hurts. Still, she hasn't met me yet. Bright sparkling personality, remember. She'll fall for me.
---
We meet in Lush, amongst bright colours and exotic aromas. I recognise her from her profile picture and approach her. We go to get a coffee, talking non stop on the way. We're like two lifelong friends, not virtual strangers to each other. It's hard to believe I didn't know she existed less than two weeks ago. She's so beautiful in person, so full of life and the joy of living, she almost glows. Time passes so fast. We talk about anything and everything. I see her onto her bus home and watch as it pulls away. Yeah, I've fallen in love, big time.
---
We message daily and arrange another not-a-date. Though she hasn't spelled it out she clearly isn't attracted to me. We have such a deep connection, so fast, too fast maybe, perfect but for that one thing. I want to hold her, kiss her, feel her warmth against me, her skin on my skin. But I'll settle for her company. I'm like a love struck teenager, crushing like crazy.
She goes on other dates, messages other men. She talks about them, I encourage her, it doesn't hurt me to do this somehow. I'm still confused about how I am being, I search my soul for answers. This can't be normal.
---
Our next not-a-date is cancelled. A change in circumstances is going to leave her homeless for a few days before she goes to stay with friends, she has to spend her time finding somewhere to live rather than waste it visiting me. I offer to have her come stay with me to cover the gap. She says yes.
I meet her off her bus, bring her home to my bedsit. We go out for a meal. We talk constantly, non stop chatter, smiling, laughing. We aren't having alcohol but I'm drunk on love. Back home, up late, listening to music, talking, talking, talking. Having a drink together. Stealing glances at her face when she isn't looking. My heart glowing. Time to sleep, she takes the chair bed. I lie in the dark, hands behind my head, staring up at a ceiling I can't see and thinking about her. Smiling as I drift off happily to sleep.
---
I'm working the next day so she has the place to herself. Back home that night it's the same again, music, talk, a little alcohol, stolen glances. I eventually look at the clock and am surprised to see it's after two in the morning. Time flies when you are in love.
---
I have Sunday off and we go for a walk. We take the riverside path, at points it narrows and I can't help staring at her perfectly rounded backside. I'm only human after all. The way she walks, the way beams of sunlight through the trees catch her hair, she's an angel. Life has never felt this good, never could again without her in it. Back home I order in pizza for us both. We have a few drinks then an early night.
---
Day four and I'm back at work. I can't stop smiling all day. I talk about her to my colleagues, they must be bored of hearing her name but I don't care, I can't help it. Back home she greets me like we were a couple, but she's only joking, worst luck. She's sitting knitting but stops and pours me a drink. This is how I want the rest of my life to be, me and her. We haven't even kissed, I know she isn't attracted to me, I don't care, just having her near is all that matters. I've fallen for her so bad.
She's leaving the next day and I'll be working then. This is the last opportunity for anything to happen. I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder...
She turns to face me and we lean in towards each other. Our lips meet, both of us smiling. It's a soft kiss, lingering, gentle and contented, and feels like it lasts forever...
She jumps when my hand touches her shoulder and I snatch my hand back guiltily, apologising. I imagine I can hear the sound of my heart breaking just a little, a hairline crack marring the surface. We play each other music videos, we talk, laugh, drink. One of us cries inside. We still haven't run out of things to say. I doubt we ever could. We stay up till three this time then I have to catch a couple of hours of sleep before it's time to get ready for work. We hug and then I'm out the door. When I come back from work my home is dark and deserted. Life is back to normal but it will never be the same again.
---
She's left me some gifts. A tarot card reading. A page from a colouring in book. A poem about our friendship. A box of clitoris Allsorts. Little stickers dotted around my home. I feel empty inside, I ache for her, for what we never had.
The next few days we message each other. I come to terms with things, examine my life. I love her, want her, but it's never going to be returned. I can live with that, and I can take pleasure in her happiness elsewhere with others. I can. I know I can.
I also realise my hopes of making someone overlook my physical short comings through my fantastic personality are unlikely to be realised. I'm not going to find anyone I connect with the way we connected. I need to look for love among my own people, the broken, the desperate and the damned.
---
I'm fifty two years old.
It's my birthday next month.
I'm going to be a fifty three year old virgin.
I'm cool with that.
