He’s a 6:00am post-Pride Grindr hookup. We’re at my place. I’m always too nervous to get right to sex, so I usher him into my living room. He talks about being a teacher in Spain and makes fun of me for having a Morrissey record, which is fair. He’s amazed that I managed to stay up this early without drinking or drugs or caffeine. He says he’s kind of high on ecstasy but that it’s basically worn off by now. He is incredulous about my age because I look younger than him. I’m not.

I’ve assimilated into the British custom of offering all guests tea; he accepts. My hands are over the counter filling the kettle. His hands are on my slightly-too-big chest, pinching my slightly-too-big nipples while he bites my neck. I bring the extraneous tea to the bedroom.

He sees my wigs. “Do you do drag?” No. He gives me a mischievous grin. “Occasional cross-dressing?” Sort of. What is cross-dressing when you’re non-binary? But I don’t get into it.

He flops on the bed and pulls me onto him for a kiss; he puts his hand in my pants and feels around for a moment before pulling it back with a surprised “Oh shit,” like he’s been burned.

It was practically scripted. I’ve never been in this situation before but I know the plot. There are two ways this could go: awkward or violent. I should be scared but the novelty of this particular trans cliché is funny, so I laugh. Cis people are always having some kind of first experience with us, but it’s nearly never our first time. I can’t stop laughing at him for being so oblivious. I thought my transness was plain as day. I guess most people don’t actually read the profile text.

I’m not just laughing at the novelty. He thought I was a cis guy, even though I’m wearing a top that shows the outline of my chest; even though he put his hands across my breast tissue and played with my nipples; even though I’m short and femme and I don’t pass on the street half the time I’m trying. I’m gleefully surprised that it takes him actually groping my genitals before he clocks me.

Then I feel guilty and frustrated that I’m validated by a boy’s ignorance. My gender euphoria should come from an internal sense of peace with myself or at least a great outfit, not some clueless cis dude’s objectification. But he wanted to fuck me because he thinks I’m pretty. That doesn’t really happen for me. Or maybe I don’t let it happen for me.

He fumbles through my laughter and recovers himself. “Well, I have always wanted to try it, but I’m just not attracted to women”. I make some joke like, It’s your lucky day. It’s not great politics but I’m glad he chose to cooly fetishize me instead of freaking out or leaving. He brags about how good he is in bed, wondering if it will “translate” to pussy. It's off-putting but he’s cute and he’s not scared by my transness, and for 6:23am on a sleepless Sunday morning that’s enough.

He wasn’t good in any hole. He fucks me like a jackhammer and I have to teach him that he can’t go from ass to cunt without changing the condom. But after he cums he sucks me off alright. “This isn’t too hard! Straight men are weak.” It's not the first time I hear that line and it won't be the last. He gave me gonorrhea.

Another boy on another day. We’re at my place. A month ago he turned me down when I asked if he wanted to kiss me at a party, so I’m surprised when he wanted to come over and “hang out”. He’s too pretty for me and maybe too young.

He plays my guitar in my living room after I insist because I’ve heard he has a voice like Tom Waits. He does. I imagine how it’ll be even finer and deeper when he gets older and then I feel gross, like I’m grooming him for a record label. But I manage to avoid saying anything creepy.

I’m straddling him in my bed and I ask him what he wants. “You.” This is scripted too, but instead of a trans tragedy it’s a cheesy romcom. He’s inexperienced and absolutely fascinated by how well I read his body language. He puts his hands above his head and is amazed when I gently hold them down; he doesn’t realize how communicative he’s being. It’s cute. Maybe it’s the power imbalance from our age difference or maybe it’s just that I can tell he likes me, but I’m not intimidated by his boyish good looks or his cis gaze.

I’m not clear from my last STI test. It’s annoying that I can’t blow him like I want to, so instead I jack him off until he cums all over himself. It gets everywhere and we both laugh. He takes a quick shower and comes back to bed to kiss me and suck on my nipples while I touch myself until I cum too. It was easy.

He likes the noises I make when I cum. I don't feel like a fetish; I feel attractive. Maybe he’s not too pretty for me. Maybe no one’s too pretty for anyone.