She And Him. Written by a t-girl

They met at a coffee shop.Good,Tilly thought to herself.Coffee shop at least means he's not too scared of being seen with me in public.

But she was worried. She's been coming out of a rough month, the roughest in her life. Never mind that; she just wanted to meet this guy and feel like herself again. That didn't go to plan, I guess.

He seemed special. So sharp and funny, they had this great banter on Tinder. But he was so old, nothing could really happen between them.

He waited for her at a trendy coffee shop, a "third space." Seemed like a coffee shop to me. There he was, in jeans and a t-shirt of a band, maybe Iggy Pop. She didn't know them, but thought it was cool he was into new indie music. Aside from that, he was rather handsome. 186 cm maybe, his hair was silver, which is hot, and a bit thinning; a square jaw, and big shoulders. Not a gym bunny by any means, but he was a big man, with big hands, and she wanted to feel small, held in them. His eyes were confusing. They were green and kind, but sometimes would look empty and dark, like the eyes of a shark.

He got up and greeted her with a small hug.Not bad,she thought. They went to the counter to order.

She was nervous, but had this thing about her, this confidence, that alas, she is something. She was quite tall, at 1.76 m, and thin. When he offered a pastry, she obviously declined. She couldn't allow herself to indulge, she needed to look perfect. She danced, so she had that dancer-type body. She had big lips and sharp features, almost like those trans models, but something was off. She was too Jewish looking or something. People told her she was attractive, even stopping her on the street, but people lie, and maybe it's cause they clocked her. Men would hit on her, but they would hit on a tree in a dress on the right occasion. She had big curly hair, like a lion's mane. It was her superpower, that and her thin waist. She liked to play with it, move it to one side and then another.

She played with it as they talked and drank their coffee. The conversation just flowed. It started with music; he told her that he's addicted to live music and goes to concerts all the time. She told him that she's been all over Hit Me Hard and Soft (it was, as she titled it a few months back, her transition album) and he told her he saw Billie just a few months ago in London.Rich?she thought to herself. Then museums, and art, and her love of Monet and Magritte, and his love of weird soundscapes and how the Whitney museum is better than the MoMa. Honestly, she was in awe that a straight guy could be so cultured. Something about him seemed warm and inviting.

45-ish minutes passed. Coffee was done. He offered to go for a walk, and she thought nothing of it. It was a pleasant day on the end of April, and the sun was setting. She carried herself with grace. He thought she had a walk that was a bit too grandeur than the occasion called for; it was a tad cute. He walked like all tall men walk, with bad posture, of course. But he seemed at ease, and certain. Not a worry on his mind.

After five minutes of walking, he stops suddenly at the door of a low-key luxury apartment building and opens it, inviting her up. She was quite stunned, how he led her to his place. She wasn't used to a guy who pulled moves like that. She went up.

They got up inside, 6th floor, view of the whole city and the ocean. And the apartment was dirty, Jesus.Whatever,she thought,the view from the balcony is worth it.Immediately then, she imagined herself reading in that balcony on the plastic sofa. "I can get used to that," she thought.

He offered a drink. God, I can't remember anymore what the conversation was about, but it was funny, and witty, and she felt good about herself. She liked how she portrayed herself, and she liked him. It was special. They sat on the sofa and talked and talked. Suddenly, she remembered herself, and she needed to check before she lets her guard down.

"Have you ever been with a girl like me?"

"No."Fuck.

"Usually when I'm the first with guys they tell me on the app, and they ask questions or something. Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was irrelevant. I saw you and was interested in you, not in your transness."

That didn't compute. If she was able to listen at that point, she would have been happy to be seen like that. But she needed control; she needed to know he was attracted to girls like her.

"Ummm, so what, did you watch some porn with trans girls or something?"

"No, never."

"Never?"Then wtf is she doing here?

She froze. When she gets overwhelmed, she can't speak. She started thinking all the thoughts, every single one, but nothing is able to come out. After a silence, he uttered nonchalantly, "I've been once with a trans girl, but she was after the surgery. Said I wouldn't notice a difference, and I didn't."

She was looking the other way, her dark curls covering the left side of her face, shielding her from his gaze. She felt her throat closing, but she tried to mumble, "With me you'll notice." That's all she could think about.

He moved closer.

Her mind racing, to herself:You'll notice because of my fucking dick.I don't remember when he started touching her, or where, but soon his hand was on her thigh, and going upwards, above her chic brown skirt.You'll notice cause I fucking have to shave every few days.Cause of how I look.How I sound.I hate this.I hate myself.

Suddenly, she noticed his thumb on the side of her left thigh. It pulled focus. The wordWowran through her mind. It was a special touch; she never felt a touch like that before. It was deep, and strong, and simple, and precise. A shark. She still looked away. She wanted more; it was just a finger putting pressure in circles on her upper left thigh, but she knew immediately he was something else.Fuck, it was all too much; she was screwing this up.Fuck that, who cares? He's not even interested,she thought. She's a silly girl sometimes.

She snapped out of it.

They started talking again. She didn't address the subject anymore, and she kept her distance right up until the goodbye. A few minutes passed. The conversation was pleasant, and more brainy than feelings. Distance, and show him you're smart. Soon it was time for her to go; she had a shift. They got up, and he showed her to the door, opened it too. She was about to step out, and he was looking to the hallway, but she couldn't help herself. She stopped, got closer to him, and got on her tiptoes, going in for a small kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly, he turned his head and locked his lips with hers. His hand found its way to her arm, and she could feel his fingernail digging into her. Nothing was true in the world in that moment; nothing was real. All there was was the kiss and the fingernail. Her knees went weak; if he didn't hold her with his other hand, she would've been on the floor by now. She felt life spring through her from his lips, his hand holding her strong, amplifying the stream, and his fucking fingernail scratching her and making it all too much. I don't know if the kiss was 20 seconds or a whole minute. It felt like an era. Then it ended.

He had the look of a king, full with self-satisfaction, looking down on her. Check. She looked at him with a mischievous look, a crooked smile. She wanted to look playful, like they were both playing the same game.

But she knew she was his pawn. Mate.