That moment when you join a FLINTA* event and realize that you are the only biological man in the room. Am I allowed to be here? How do I know I am non-binary enough? Or am I too cis? I know that I don’t belong where most men do. Even gay men. Especially gay men - too much testosterone in the room for me. I know that I am not trans. Transvestite, maybe. That’s the word you’d encounter once in a while. Crossdresser - more so now.
I did really enjoy dressing. I still do. But the more I do the more I find myself in the margin of the margins. Not quite part of any tribe, group, with no label clearly fitting. I still am attracted to women, more so than to men. But, when a woman sees me, what does she see? At best - a “pretty boy” in a dress. Someone to chat with about fashion. Someone to keep as a friend.
I haven’t been touched by a person with genuine affection for years now. And my body, my mind is craving. It’s almost the only thing I can think of right now. Am I looking for love? Not quite. Simpler. Softer. Just the affection, materialized in touch. Falling asleep feeling that touch. And making breakfast for two in the morning, with the memory of it.