He follows me to my door and there is the pause under the porch light, separated by just a little distance, not touching for the moment. It is late as he drives me back to my place. The kiss that comes now is magical, and I know this evening is far from over. Excitement and yearning mix with a sense of newfound connection, an easiness together, a feeling of security and…rightness. Afterward, we shift to the sofa in the fireside lounge for port and snuggles.

Seated with a view over water, we hold hands across the table and look into each other between courses. I already know him well enough that I feel relaxed and completely safe. I savor a delicious anticipation as my eyes follow him round the front, as he opens his door, and another kiss as he settles into the driver’s seat. Jim picks me up and there is a sweet kiss as he holds the car door. At long last those disconnects were…connected. Connection on the first date, holding hands and a kiss on the second, genuine passion on the third.īefore my transition, the pursuit of human desire had always been profoundly marred by the unbearable discord that existed between me and my own anatomy and the equally distressing disconnect between how men related to me and how I needed to be related to. What a delight when Jim and I met for coffee and it was good. Newly invented social practices had appeared-like “ghosting”-and wow, did I get some duds. It was the late 1990s and internet dating was becoming a reality. As I approached 40, lines were beginning to show in my face and my life felt incomplete.

My challenges were no longer those of a trans woman, they were simply those of a woman. I was secure in the life, body, and career of a mature woman. The anxieties of a second puberty and the trauma of physical and social gender transition largely faded into memory. I remained single through the years of physical and emotional healing, the gradual process of settling into a body and life that finally aligned with who I had been since my earliest years. He finds me beautiful that’s the main thing. This is not the face-to-face intimacy I long for, but at least I’m able to hold my female body image intact. I struggle to reconnect my female self to her body. My grasp on my female body starts to slip away and I feel panic rise dissociation starts to take over as my mind defends itself. But my anatomy is such that things do not proceed as I imagined, and he rises and rolls me over. This is my first time, and in my feminine imagination I spread my legs and close my eyes. He is experienced and prepared he withdraws his hand for a moment, then I feel him lubricating me. I push him back and undo his trousers, he kicks them off as I cup him, kiss his chest, his trim belly, move back up to his lips, slide down next to him, and pull him on top of me. I rise to kneel next to him, unbutton his shirt, run my hands up under the collar and slip it off as I slide my hands over his shoulders. A slight hesitation and I take his hand and enter his home.Īs his fingers trail downward over my tingling skin, I grasp his wrist to prevent him going lower than my navel. Turning, he steps through the doorway, turns back and reaches a hand toward me. He turns and looks at me reaches out and brushes my cheek with his fingers and a slight smile. With his attention briefly diverted, I have a moment to feel the butterflies in my belly, a little perspiration of anxiety and fear of the unknown, and an underlying sense of anticipation. I follow him up stairs and wait as he unlocks the door to his flat. There is this very long twelve seconds, before he opens his door, when you come to terms with the fact that you are about to be taken to a place you don’t know by a man you don’t know. Then he closes it, passes round the back as you stare ahead. There is this particular feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, when he’s holding the door of his car as you get in. He bought me dinner and drinks, then we headed to his place. The man from the restaurant was attractive, very charming, well-spoken, maybe 20 years older than I. This, the second first time, was different.

My first time with a trans