There’s a huge part of why I no longer want to date cis men: so many times, I get creeps sliding into my Instagram/Facebook DMs and asking for a date. The truth is, they see the hashtag “transwomenofinstagram” and decide to pursue based on that alone. So I have questions for these creeps.
Do you love me with stubble in the morning?
Do you love me with visible chest hair?
Do you love me even though my voice is kind of deep and I hate it?
Do you love me even though the hormone fairy didn’t bless me with breasts?
Do you love me when I say “wake up, let’s go to IHOP” at 4 AM?
Do you love me when I’m sipping my seventh cup of coffee later in the day?
Are you going to support me while I’m training for endurance events? Are you going to be my sherpa?
Are you going to be out there on race day, braving the elements to cheer me on?
Do you love me even though I don’t wear makeup most days?
Are you going to support my goals, such as being an author and Licensed MSW/CSW?
Do you love me even though I’m wearing Nike shoes with every article of clothing I own?
Are you going to meet my romantic and sexual needs as much as I’ll try to meet yours?
I’m involved in service professional work, and some days are harder than others. Are you going to be there at the end of a hard day, encouraging me to go back and try again tomorrow?
Because if you can’t say yes to all of those questions, I’m not your woman. The truth of the matter is, these creeps see me as a fetish, a sissy, someone they can fondle themselves to. I believe most porn mags used to have transgender women filed under “chicks with dicks.” And that’s all I am to them.